


57

by DementedPixie, Inlovewithboth



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 08:01:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DementedPixie/pseuds/DementedPixie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inlovewithboth/pseuds/Inlovewithboth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can find all my Professionals and New Professionals stories on my website: www.demented.pixie.moonfruit.com.</p>
            </blockquote>





	57

<

1\. Old Dog with New Tricks

Unable to prevent the wave of depression as it hit him smack in the face, Bodie stared blankly into the remains of his beer. He’d tried so hard over the last few days; saved the girl, worked as a team, done all that had been asked of him by his partner, God, The Queen and George Cowley. And through every minute of the operation he had been treated like dirt by one Ray Doyle. What exactly did he need to do to get this new partner of his to treat him as an equal? Maybe it was his own fault, he pondered, slumping even further over his pint and flicking a peanut across the table through an imaginary goal. He hadn’t exactly shown his trust in Doyle as they’d worked together to save that nurse. Bodie had taken charge, put himself in the firing line even though he was arguably the better shot. And why? To show how brave he was? Or because he’d rather put his own life at risk than expect somebody else to? And then he had to ask the one doubting question that was guaranteed to wind Doyle up. “Can you take him?” Of course he could take him; he’s got a proven firearms record, hasn’t he? So why hadn’t Bodie shown a bit more trust in his partner at that vital moment? No wonder Doyle was being frosty towards him.

Let down in the past by his partner in the SAS, manipulated and emotionally blackmailed, it had taken George Cowley’s almighty last chance secondment and apparent blind faith to persuade William Andrew Phillip Bodie that he might be able to trust a partner once again. But, Christ, why did Doyle have to ask him about Belfast? He rubbed his hand over tired eyes, wishing he could relive the last few days all over again and make a fresh start. 

From the other side of the bar Ray Doyle watched his new partner carefully. It seemed pretty clear that this ex Squaddie had more about him than Doyle had originally given him credit for. Ever since losing his last Police partner in a shooting Doyle had made a conscious decision to work alone right up to the time he left the force. But Cowley had made it crystal clear on his first day at CI5 – you will be allocated a partner and from then on you’re a team, the Bisto Kids. Look after the other as you would look after yourself. 

Had Doyle been too harsh with Bodie today? He’d tried to talk, tried to draw him out a little, but had been shut down fast when he had touched on Bodie’s time in Belfast. Yes, he’d wound him up over his girlfriend - Claire, was it - but only because Bodie kept making cracks about bent coppers. But had he allowed his pride to get in the way when Bodie had taken over in that hospital car park? There was no rank in CI5 but Doyle was determined not to spend the rest of his time in the Squad fighting with his partner over who was the better man. In the end, he had to admit, they had made a good team. The pretty nurse with the hand grenade down her bra had provided them with their first op entirely on their own with no back up and no Cowley. And Bodie had been good; good ideas, logical, organised. Admittedly he’d given Doyle a near heart attack by walking in front of his line of fire at one point, but regardless of that they had won the day and won well. 

Doyle watched Bodie rubbing his hands over his eyes. Tired, naturally, but there was something else there too. A touch of sadness? Abruptly, Doyle made a decision. It was impossible to relive the last few days all over again but maybe his new partner would agree to a fresh start? He walked over to the table, his boot crunching on the collection of discarded peanuts. 

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I was wrong,” said Doyle, going for blunt but honest. 

Bodie looked up, surprise written all over his face. He was very much aware that he hadn’t heard Doyle say these words before and quickly realised that it may never happen again. This was a moment he needed to make the most of. 

Almost unbelievably the apology was continuing. “You’re good,” said Doyle. “And I’ve been a prick. Let’s start again, eh? Pint, is it?”

“Er, yeah, thanks.” Bodie watched him walk to the bar to order the drinks, then gifted him a genuine smile as he returned with two pints in his hands. 

There was a glimmer of hope in Bodie’s eyes for the first time. 

Maybe this was going to work out after all.  
   


2\. Long Shot

George Cowley had been secretly worried about Bodie and Doyle for a while now. Not worried as in regretting his recruitment of them to CI5, but worried in that perhaps he’d been wrong to partner them together. He’d hoped that the huge differences in their personalities, the things that made them Chalk and Cheese, would actually bring them together and help them to work as a close knit team. Instead their first few months together had borne a partnership that was so stiff and controlled Cowley really had begun to doubt his personnel skills. 

But then, well it hadn’t happened quite the way he’d hoped but slowly things became noticeably different. The change seemed to have started in typical macho style; a bet over a squash game which ended up turning into a highly competitive and near legendary 12 hour two man tournament. Mutual respect was born that day and ever since Bodie and Doyle had voluntarily spent more time in each other’s company. Squash matches, trips to the gym, long early morning runs, drinks after work, endless practical jokes and the banter, oh, the banter. 

Cowley allowed himself a small smile. After bearing the brunt of more than enough schoolboy humour from the pair of them, Cowley had finally got his own back. 

They really had looked a picture in those matching bright red track suits. 

 

3\. Where The Jungle Ends

Doyle crossed his arms across his chest and leaned casually against the wall, watching with interest as his partner tried to fend off the nurse’s ministrations. 

“Look, I’m okay,” insisted Bodie, shrugging off the nurse’s attempt at removing the remaining half of his tattered red shirt. 

“You most certainly are not,” she said, firmly, as she finally succeeded in undoing all the buttons and discarding the offending item. “And if you don’t sit still and let me patch you up, I’ll report you to your superior. He’s only in the next room.” Taking the ruined shirt with her she wandered off to fetch more supplies, muttering as she left. “Honestly, grown men acting like little kids, what is the world coming to...”

Doyle winced in sympathy as he took in the multiple bruises on his partner’s torso. “So,” he said, “Made you feel better, did it?”

“What?” replied Bodie, momentarily confused.

“Beating up Krivas. Reliving old times.”

“Oh,” said Bodie, catching on. “No, not really.” He gazed distractedly over towards the window, shutting the conversation down. 

Doyle carried on watching him. It had been the first time in their acquaintance that Bodie had mentioned the ‘L’ word. He said he’d loved that girl and Krivas had killed her. And although Bodie had given Cowley most of the information he’d needed readily enough, it had been with an introverted, somewhat sad expression on his face. In fact this whole operation had obviously proved so distressing for Bodie on a personal level that Doyle had almost forgiven him for the way he’d treated him in Cusak’s weapons store. Almost. 

“Enjoying the view?” said Bodie, feeling uncomfortable under his partner’s surveillance. 

“No, not really,” Doyle echoed the words back at him, a small smile playing across his lips. “So are you going to tell me the rest of it? About you and Krivas and the others?”

Bodie looked across the room at him, his eyes dark and soulful. A small shake of the head. 

“I thought not,” said Doyle, pushing away from the wall and stalking towards the door. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

“Doyle!” Doyle paused in the doorway, his back to Bodie. What was Bodie going to say? That he couldn’t talk about it because it was too painful? That he didn’t trust Doyle enough yet? That it was simply none of Doyle’s business? When it came, the word was a bit of an anticlimax to say the least. 

“Thanks.”

Frustrated beyond words, Doyle left the room and slammed the door shut behind him. What pissed him off more than anything was that he and Bodie had started to work really well together. That trick they had pulled with the kidnapped school girl was priceless and Doyle had enjoyed every second of it. He found he wanted more of the same. If only Bodie would open up a little, share a little more. 

In fact, forget all of that. All he wanted Bodie to do was trust him. Was that really too much to ask?

 

4\. Killer With A Long Arm

“So you and me are a mobile ghetto, eh?”

At bloody last. After all this time, it was all Doyle needed to hear. It meant Bodie depended on him, relied on him, trusted him. And the feeling was mutual. These days they were working so well together, smooth, seamless, anticipating each other moves and thought processes, even finishing each other’s sentences. They had elevated through the ranks and while other agents were out and about doing groundwork and research, Bodie and Doyle were right in the thick of things, often with George Cowley right behind them. Doyle was even beginning to believe that the head of CI5 genuinely enjoyed working with them.

Everything had been going so well. And then came the shootout in that flat. Adrenalin rushing through his body meant Doyle let his guard down, raw emotion pouring from him in the heat of the moment. Had Bodie really got under his skin that much? Oh yes. Even Bodie seemed surprised when he heard Doyle’s voice crack. 

The facts were there, laid bare before them. Doyle had ignored all his training, broken cover and moved into a position of danger, simply because if he had shot and missed, he might have hit Bodie. 

And that was never going to happen, not in a million years. 

A mobile ghetto, indeed - the perfect description.

5\. Heroes

Bodie had never wanted to over analyse his feelings towards Tommy McKay, mainly because deep down he recognised in himself some of the traits that had turned Tommy into a man they all, except George Cowley, considered to be crazy. McKay had seen way too much death and destruction in his life and as a result just didn’t see the danger any more. A psychopath? Maybe. He certainly had a certifiable death wish and that made him dangerous to be around. Somewhere deep in Bodie’s soul he understood that and the reasons behind it. But that didn’t mean he had to face up to it or start seeing elements of Tommy in himself. 

And now, thanks to the reckless abandon that meant he’d exposed himself to the gunmen while coming to Bodie and Doyle’s aid, Shotgun Tommy was dead. And Bodie had seen his partner do two things he’d never seen him do before; attack an injured prisoner and cry. 

Together they watched as the paramedics covered Tommy’s now peaceful face with the red blanket and carried him to the ambulance. 

“Don’t put him in the same wagon, not with them,” said Doyle, tears in his eyes, uncaring that people could see them. That Bodie could see them. Bodie turned away. He wasn't sure if it was to give Doyle some privacy or because he couldn't bear to see the expression on Doyle's face.

Later, much later, Cowley bought them the promised pure malt scotch. And Bodie did everything he could to try to draw Doyle out of the slump he had fallen into. Somehow he couldn’t quite manage it, unsure of how to provide support to a partner when his previous partnerships hadn’t required this level of caring. He tried his best, but he couldn’t quite understand what was going on in Doyle’s head, why the death of a comrade was something to get so depressed about. Bodie himself had witnessed so many deaths. 

Maybe too many. 

Like Tommy? 

The shock of that thought made him spill his drink. 

6\. Private Madness, Public Danger

Doyle had learned a lot from George Cowley in the time he’d known him. He learned that everyone had their own personal room 101, the one thing they were terrified of. He’d seen Cowley use this tactic time and time again, breaking the hardest of men. Take Benny Marsh, for example, who surrendered instantly when threatened with nothing more than an airline ticket to Angola. But even Doyle was stunned when the CI5 head threatened to turn Eric Sutton into a junky. Doyle followed instructions, holding Sutton hard in a firm inescapable grip, but he couldn’t help the flash of panic in his own eyes when he realised Cowley was really going to go through with it. Thankfully Sutton realised it too at precisely the same moment and caved in under the pressure, but it left Doyle thinking. 

What lengths would George Cowley go to in order to get the result he wanted? Were there any lines he wouldn’t cross? 

And would one day he or Bodie bear the brunt of that ruthlessness?  
 

7\. The Female Factor  
Bodie sat in the back of the ambulance, his face devoid of all expression. He hadn’t really known how to react when Cowley had instructed him to accompany his partner to the hospital. It’s not that he didn’t want to support Doyle; he just couldn’t see what use he’d be. He’d argued at first, said his bit, made his point as eloquently as possible. Surely he needed to stay behind to help with the clean up? Escort the girl back to headquarters, supervise the removal of dead bodies, make his report… Anything, in fact, rather than sitting in the back of an ambulance staring in shock at the pain filled body of his partner. 

As they sped their way through the busy London streets, the nurse set about cutting a straight line up the leg of Doyle’s jeans to get at the wound. Tutting over the mess she found beneath the denim she shoved a wad of sterile dressings into Bodie’s hand with instructions on how to apply pressure, before leaning across to the driver to have her instructions radioed ahead to the Hospital. Doyle was weaving between blurry wakefulness and total blackout. For his part Bodie wished he’d stay out of it completely, for now at least. 

Bodie closed his eyes for a moment and tried to think past the blood. Why was it getting to him so much? He’d seen more than his fair share of blood and gore in his life, caused some of it himself, tended comrade’s wounds and seen them die. 

His stomach turned over, his eyes flew open and instinctively he reached out, grabbing Doyle’s hand. 

Doyle groaned and turned his head slowly towards him. “What?”

“Relax, Ray, soon be at the hospital,” said Bodie, in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. 

“Can’t fucking relax,” muttered Doyle, pushing his head back into the foam pillow and straining against the pain. “Fucking hurts.”

Bodie squeezed harder on the hand he was still holding. “Now, now, Ray, watch your language in front of the pretty nurse.”

Doyle seemed to pull himself together a little as he tried to focus on the blue uniformed figure bustling busily around the narrow space. “Yeah, sorry.” Just as he seemed to succeed in getting his bad language and pain under simultaneous control, the driver slammed his brakes on and Doyle slid an inch down the bench. It was enough; he passed out again. 

Bodie sighed and pressed harder on the dressing, his mind zoning out the blues and twos. It probably didn’t merit too much analysis. Cowley just wanted him to make sure his partner was okay, well looked after. He’d probably meet them at the Hospital later. He couldn’t imagine there was any particular reason why it was so important for him to be by Doyle’s side. The danger was gone, the threat removed, the KGB agent dead at Bodie’s hand. He really could be off somewhere else doing far more important things. 

Just as the ambulance turned into the Hospital entrance Doyle recovered his senses once more. Glassy eyes searched out his partner who, somewhat surprisingly to both of them, was still holding his hand.

“Bodie?” A lick of the lips. A squeeze of the hand. “Thanks.”

“What for?”

“Coming with me. Always did hate Hospitals, ever since I was a kid.” A floppy weakened hand moved up to his face and gestured vaguely towards the plastic insert that had long ago taken the place of his cheekbone. 

Bodie blinked, suddenly realising the vast expanse of things he didn’t know about Doyle’s background and childhood. He’d never asked him, they’d never talked about it. And Bodie hadn’t exactly let Doyle in on his own past, either. But Doyle didn’t like Hospitals and Cowley must have known it. 

So maybe, thought Bodie, maybe he’d been some use here after all. A look of understanding crossed his face. “No problem, sunshine,” he said with a smile. ”That’s what partner’s are for.”

 

8\. Everest Was Also Conquered

I’d never met any of Tony’s work colleagues before, at least, not from this new department. But I knew how proud he was when he joined CI5. He’d worked so hard to get fit, pass all the tests and impress the boss as well as all the other agents. I had no doubts that he’d fit in, he was always such a cheerful, friendly lad. And he really looked up to that Mr Cowley. A nice man, he telephoned personally to tell me what had happened. To my Tony. He was only 26, you know. Mr Cowley said how he’d very much like to attend the funeral and offered all kinds of help with the arrangements. Which was nice of him, of course, but I thought that would be it; that I’d never hear from anyone from CI5 again. They were always so busy, why would they bother with me beyond being polite and feeling obligated?

So I was really surprised to open the door one evening and find two nice young men on my doorstep; Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle, although they insisted on me calling them ‘just Bodie’ and ‘Ray’. You don’t really expect it nowadays, that two busy men like them would take the time to come and see a lonely old lady like me just because they happened to work with my son. But they did and I’m so glad they took the trouble, I really am. We sat down in the lounge, Bodie next to me on the sofa and Ray in the arm chair, and they told me a few little stories about Tony’s time at CI5, short though it was. How they’d played practical jokes on each other, teased the new boy a little. And how Tony always took it so well. How well he fitted in with them all. I always knew he would, you see. 

And then Bodie started to tell me how they’d caught the man who’d shot my boy. He looked at the floor while he related the story, his voice soft and gentle. My heart really went out to him, he was struggling so much with the words. Then I looked up and saw that Ray had tears in his eyes, bless him. I poured them both a cup of tea and brought the cake tin out and that seemed to cheer them up a little. Funny really, that they had come to cheer me up and it finished up working the other way around. 

I popped into the kitchen to get the milk then came back into the lounge with my second best jug, thinking about how Tony had broken my best one the last time he’d visited. As I poured the milk into their cups I found myself wondering if they ever think about how short their own lives might be, working in such a dangerous job like they do. The thought made my hand shake, slopping milk into Bodie’s saucer. He looked up at me, such long eyelashes he’s got, then he took the milk jug from my shaking hand and set it on the tea table. Ray jumped up and held my elbow, supporting me while I sat down and then I’m ashamed to say I completely embarrassed myself. I broke down and cried in front of two total strangers. I don’t know what I was thinking. 

Most men would be embarrassed to have a hysterical old lady on their hands, but not these two. Bodie put an arm around my shoulders and Ray found a box of tissues. They sat either side of me on that sofa for ages, waiting patiently for me to cry myself out. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like them before, in fact I know I haven’t. Then Ray went to make a fresh pot of tea and they stayed until they were sure I was alright again. 

Not that I’ll be quite alright ever again. Not without my Tony. 

But I’ll never forget how Bodie and Ray tried to help me, not through any sense of obligation or politeness, but because they cared. 

God bless them both and keep them safe. I hope they’ll always be there for each other.

And that neither of their Mothers ever gets a phone call like I did. 

 

 

 

9\. Close Quarters

Just when she was needed the most, the lovely Julia did a runner. I suppose you can’t really blame her, she had just been through a hellish afternoon culminating in her having to shoot an international terrorist. But I just don’t get how she could leave him on his own. I mean to say, the man has both his hands bandaged now; how exactly is he supposed to manage?

“Ray?”

The sound of his voice shook me out of my reverie and I went through to the bedroom to find my partner of two years three months (I’m still amazed that I remember exactly how long it’s been) clumsily pulling clothes off hangers and dropping them on the bed. 

“What do you need?”

He is so good at that little boy lost thing. I’m stunned it didn’t work its magic on Julia for just a little bit longer. 

“Just want to be smart for Cowley.” Oh, and the pout is back. 

“Right, shirt and tie then.” I picked up the blue shirt that had been thrown on the bed and helped Bodie into it, working my way up his buttons one by one. “I need help. A little place North.” I knew I was muttering but I really couldn’t help it. 

“What?”

“You,” I said, making Bodie squirm, pinching skin as I fastened the top button. “Going after the bloody Myer Helmut group all on your own. You’re not a one man army, Bodie.”

“I know,” said Bodie, lifting his chin as I slung the tie around his neck. “But once I’d seen the guy I could hardly just ignore him, could I?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” I asked as I focussed on his Windsor knot. “Two years three months, Bodie. We watch each other’s backs; that’s why we’re still alive. It’s what I told Cowley.”

“We are both still alive, Ray,” he said, confused as always by my erratic thought process.

“Yeah, well today was too bloody close.” I finished the knot and pulled it up tight. “Next time...”

“Next time you’ll be there,” said Bodie, that cocky smile back on his face again. 

“Right.” I stood back to admire my handiwork. “Together, Bodie. It’s what we do best.” 

His face was still lit up in a smile as I reached for his suit. 

10\. Look After Annie

And here they were again; hospital. But at least this time Bodie knew the drill. There were so many agents and police around at the scene of the riot it had been easy for him to leave the clear up to others. Then he’d seen to it that Cowley was taken to hospital in the first ambulance to arrive while he had driven Doyle in himself. Doyle was unnervingly quiet all the way there, wincing at every bump in the road. When they arrived their status meant they went straight through to X-ray, avoiding the crowds in the reception area. Bodie spoke to the Doctors and nurses on Doyle’s behalf, not really understanding the comments about Monteggia and the ‘fracture of the proximal third of the ulna’ but breathing a sigh of relief when they said it wasn’t going to require surgery. The Doctor pointed out the break on the X-ray and explained how he was going line up the bone before encasing it in plaster. At this point Doyle turned a rather unattractive shade of green. 

“Okay?” asked Bodie, carefully folding Doyle’s sheepskin jacket over the back of a chair. 

Doyle spoke through pursed lips. “Yeah.”

“Don’t think too much about it.” Bodie patted Doyle’s good arm lightly. “Just focus on me.”

Doyle blinked his understanding, then a rattling trolley loaded with equipment was pushed into the treatment room followed by the Doctor and several nurses. 

Bodie stepped back out of the way, noting how Doyle was watching him rather than what was going on in the room. 

One of the nurses put a mask over Doyle’s mouth and nose. “It’s gas and air,” she explained, struggling to get his attention away from Bodie for a moment if only to make sure he understood her. “It will help with the pain. Breathe deep now, in...that’s it, now out again. And again. One more.” 

Bodie took a step closer and Doyle’s eyes immediately met his. And as Doyle breathed in another lungful of the pain relief the Doctor chose his moment to act. With a quick confirming glance at the X-Ray he took hold of the injured limb with both hands and firmly clicked the bone back into place, coating the area with plaster soaked bandages and keeping a tight hold while the initial layer began to set. The nurses deftly soaked more bandages in the plaster of paris and helped the Doctor to build up the cast. 

Doyle closed his eyes, colour draining from his face. 

“Take another breath, Ray,” said Bodie, moving to the side of the nurse in charge of the gas. 

The pressure of the Doctors fingers pressing on the point of the fracture forced Doyle’s body to respond in the most obvious and natural of ways and, with a small whimper, he slumped backwards on the bed as he lost consciousness. The nurse checked his vital signs and the Doctor took the opportunity to finish the plaster cast without causing further discomfort to his patient. 

Bodie ruffled his hand gently through his partner’s curls.

“Alright, Sunshine,” he said, fondly. “You can pass out now.”

 

 

 

11\. When The Heat Cools Off

His body driven by adrenaline, Doyle hardly noticed the cold as he opened the throttle on the Harley, welcoming the thudding of huge pistons beneath him. 

He didn’t really know where he was going, but this was the only way he could get away from everything, everyone. To clear his head. As the Electra-Glide ate the miles, clarity gradually forced its way through the fog in his brain and, slowly, Doyle began to realise some of the good things instead of focussing on the bad. Instead of allowing himself to be dragged down by Jill Hayden’s manipulation and betrayal, it slowly dawned on him the things he should be proud of. 

For one, Cowley had supported him every step of the way, allowed him time off to investigate, even backed his decision to draw up a new statement to the point of involving the Minister. And then he’d done everything in his power to make sure of the facts in order to prevent Doyle from falling into the trap and potentially making a fool of himself. 

And as for Doyle himself, well, despite the urge to wallow in self pity at being so cleverly duped, Doyle knew that deep down the Hayden girl had only been so successful in her ploy because he was a good man. A man who worked hard to see justice done. If he’d been an unscrupulous uncaring bastard she would have got nowhere. That thought made things slightly easier to bear. 

And Bodie...well Doyle knew full well what a good partner he had in Bodie. After all the years that had gone by since he’d lost Sid Parker, Doyle now had another man at his side who he trusted just as much. Bodie hadn’t made him feel bad or teased him when they found out what the girl had done. He’d just backed him up all the way, given up his free time and worked with him side by side to get to the truth. 

Bodie had said he didn’t know how he would feel if it had been his partner that had been killed. But Doyle did. He’d been there once before. He knew without any shadow of a doubt that he didn’t want to go there again. To think of Bodie dying...well Doyle didn’t even want to think about it. Ever. 

 

12\. Stakeout  
With equal amounts of care and determination Bodie pushed his way through the throng to get to the bar. It had been a long day and he needed a pint and The Crown was the nearest pub to CI5 Headquarters. Flashing his money at the barmaid helped him get her attention and once he’d taken a sip of his beer to make it easier to carry, he made his way over to a slightly quieter corner where he had already recognised a couple of faces. 

“Fraser, Benny,” he said, raising his pint in salutation as he pulled up a low stool. “Bit busy in here tonight, isn’t it?”

“Ah, there’s a reason for that,” said Benny, leaning forward in a conspiratorial fashion. “There’s a stripper promised for later.”

“A stripper?” Bodie laughed as he looked around the crowded room. “Don’t see how they could fit her in!”

“We’ll find a way,” said Benny, grinning as he raised his pint glass. “Cheers!”

“Yeah, cheers,” said Bodie, clinking glasses. “Alright, John?”

Benny’s partner seemed quiet and reserved compared to the rest of the revellers. “Hmm? Oh yeah, fine. You?”

“Yeah. Hell of a day, though.”

“Yeah.” Fraser sipped his beer, thoughtfully. 

“Hey!” cried Benny, nearly tipping the table up in his rush to stand. “Here she is!”

He pushed his way out of the corner and surged towards the door where the stripper had made her appearance. Bodie got out of his way then slipped into the now vacated seat next to Fraser. “Bloody hell,” said Bodie, with a grin. “You’d think they’d never seen a woman before.”

“Hmm.”

As music blared out and chaos surrounded them, Bodie found himself drawn to the quiet man. “Anything wrong, mate?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in enquiry. 

Fraser put his pint on the table and crossed his arms across his chest. “Do you ever hate the job?” he asked. 

“Hate it? Oh come on.”

“I’m serious.”

“I don’t know. If I hated it I wouldn’t do it, would I?”

“No, suppose not.”

“Come on, John.” Bodie leaned in a little closer to block out the noise that was building around them. “What’s up?”

Fraser sighed and stared straight ahead. “Sometimes I just get this feeling my number’s up.” He blinked and looked up as if he’d only just noticed Bodie’s presence. “You can laugh if you want to.”

“I’m not laughing, mate,” said Bodie. “It’s understandable considering the job we do.”

“What is?”

“To feel a bit low from time to time.”

“Oh, is that what I’m feeling?”

Bodie was distracted for a moment as a bejewelled turquoise bra came flying in their direction, followed by a huge cheer. “Sorry? What was that?”

“Nothing.” Fraser sank back into his seat, almost disappearing from view from the rest of the bar. “Nothing at all.”

 

 

 

13\. Klansmen

Waking up from what felt like a miraculously restful sleep, Bodie focussed on the person sitting by his bed and frowned with concern. 

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked, his voice weak and quiet, taking in the mess that used to be Doyle’s left eye. 

Doyle smiled, then winced as the pull on the cuts and bruises made his face hurt even more. “Got caught up with those thugs at the Miller Trust,” he said, ruefully. “I’ve spent the last couple of hours getting patched up, thought I’d drop in and see how you were.” He ran an appraising eye over his washed out looking partner, concerned that even though he was now awake he wasn’t making any attempt to move or sit up. 

Doyle looked up as a pretty, black nurse came into the room, noticing the look of complete trust in Bodie’s eyes as she gave him his medication. She smiled at Doyle as she stepped gracefully out of the room and he raised his eyebrows at Bodie. “Nice girl.” 

“The best.”

Doyle leaned forward a little, trying not to put too much strain on his aching ribs but wanting to get closer. “Things have changed, then?”

“They do, sometimes,” replied Bodie, slowly turning his head on the pillow so he could face his partner. 

“Will you ever tell me about it?” Doyle didn’t need to explain, they both knew what he meant. Doyle knew Bodie had spent time in Africa, he also knew his partner didn’t talk about his time there – ever. Well maybe it was time he did, if he had so much anger and mistrust burning up inside him.

“Not now, Ray, okay?” Bodie’s eyes fluttered shut once more, the strain of the last few days still telling its own story. 

“Get some rest,” said Doyle, as he relaxed back in the chair, still content to watch over his partner for as long as he was needed. 

When the time for her next check came along, the nurse stood in the doorway of Bodie’s room with a soft smile on her lips. The man she had come to care so much for obviously had a very good friend indeed. She moved carefully around Bodie’s bed to assess him, then draped a blanket over Doyle’s shoulders. He had fallen asleep with his head resting on crossed arms, leaning forward on the edge of Bodie’s bed with Bodie’s hand resting on his elbow. 

The bravest of men still needed a little quiet care sometimes.  

14\. Rogue

Look at him. I mean, just look at him. He really can’t stop himself, can he? Give him a pretty girl, nice figure, the typical leggy blond and he’s all over her like a rash. Never mind that she’s going out with someone else. Not just anyone else, either, but a mate. Oh no, never mind all that. He just can’t help it. That’s it, sunshine, hold the chair out for her to sit down. Then, oh yes, why hold back? Give her that smile, the one that makes ‘em melt. Why not, eh? 

Doyle kicked his foot against the table leg in front of him, not wanting to analyse the feelings going through his head. What the hell was this, anyway? Anger at Bodie breaking the unwritten rule between mates? Annoyance that he himself hadn’t got to her first? Jealousy? Oh, for goodness sake, talk sense, man. 

“Anything else, sir?”

“Sorry?” Doyle’s thoughts were rudely interrupted and he pulled his attention away from the window and back to the bar. “Oh, sorry, mate. And an orange juice.”

“That all?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Thanks”

Doyle turned back to the window through which he could still see Bodie and Maggie, watching his partner lean across the table towards her. Keeping all his thoughts to himself he passed cash across the bar and picked up all three drinks, then made his way back outside. 

“Is this a chat up or an interrogation?” Maggie was asking.

“It’s a chat up,” said Doyle, fast as you like, not missing the look on Bodie’s face. “I wouldn’t let him bother you; he can’t resist trying it on.”

There, that should do it. That told him. But what exactly was it that Doyle was trying to say? He really wasn’t sure. 

Still confused, Doyle sat back with his drink in his hand and watched the master at work. 

 

15\. Hunter Hunted

“You’ll save me.”  
Bodie rubbed his hands over tired eyes as the true meaning of those words sank in. Doyle had sounded so sure, so confident. And at no point did he sound as if he was joking. He was absolutely certain of Bodie’s ability to save his life, no matter what. 

If anybody else had said those words Bodie might have felt a slight hint of resentment, a feeling of being taken for granted, used. But with Doyle, no, he didn’t feel anything of the kind. Because Doyle was right. Bodie would do anything in his power to save his partner and he knew that if the situation was reversed, Doyle would do exactly the same for him. 

He couldn’t even say the responsibility lay heavy on his shoulders; far from it. He welcomed the responsibility, the chance to protect his partner, to cover his back. It was his job and he relished it. Just put him in front of the man currently goading them both and everyone would soon see how seriously Bodie took his task. 

And sure enough here was Bodie giving up a night’s sleep to sit outside Doyle’s flat, offering protection, security, defence against the threat. All given freely in order for Doyle to get a few hours of undisturbed sleep. 

It was no trouble. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, if all he was doing was worrying. 

Dawn crept slowly over the rooftops, turning the city’s version of blackness into a dirty amber. He’d go in soon, freshen up a bit, see if Doyle had anything resembling breakfast in his fridge. 

And then he could find out if Doyle had slept at all or if, as he suspected, he’d been awake all night worrying and wondering. 

They made a fine pair.

 

16\. First Night

Three years in the Met, the same again in CI5, and I’m still treated like a cross between a sex object, a secretary and a mother. But I don’t really mind. Working for Mr Cowley is a dream come true for me, he’s such a pet; all bark and no bite. You stay true to him and he’ll stick by you through thick and thin. And he’s the kind of man who somehow makes you want to look after him. Always smart and well turned out but he doesn’t take enough care of himself, easily bringing out the mothering instincts in all of us girls. Me included, especially when he calls me 'Miss Pettifer' in that gorgeous Scottish accent. I’ll happily make him coffee, drive him anywhere he needs to go, organise his dry cleaning; you name it, I’ll do it. And I wouldn’t do it for any other man. But there’s something about him that makes you want to care for him. He’s under so much stress all the time, it can’t be good for him. No matter how hard he tries to keep fit, he’ll never quite manage it with the lack of sleep he regularly forces his body to endure, and I can’t remember the last time I saw him eat a proper meal during his fourteen hour working day. 

Employed as a B Squad agent and driver, I regularly find myself fussing over him – not that he’ll accept much fuss. You have to do it in a subversive way so he doesn’t notice. Small things that you know he needs, but he’ll never ask for. Like adding a tipple to his afternoon tea or making sure on a stakeout that he isn’t disturbed while he tries to rest. Because those boys he employs, well, they’ll be the death of him. And they are boys, the way they carry on you can hardly call them men. 

Take a certain Agent 4-5, for example. We’ve been working together on this foreign Diplomat kidnap. He had to stand up his girlfriend at the start of the incident and has been working hard to make up for it ever since. I saw him with Bodie in the staff canteen earlier, chatting up two WPCs. And just now in the car he couldn’t resist trying it on with me, yet again. Oh I can handle him, and I suppose it would be flattering if he didn’t have a habit of having a go at anything in a skirt. No, I’ll not be another notch on his bedpost, thank you very much. He and Bodie can play their infantile little games as much as they like, I’m not going to be caught in the crossfire. 

Although sometimes I can't help but wonder what it would be like…

 

17\. The Rack

Bodie sat at the table nursing his pint as he watched Cowley chatting to the barmaid. There was something weighing heavily on Bodie’s mind; the look on Doyle’s face when he had walked away, the way he had spoken. 

“No, no, thanks, I'm tired. Think I'll have an early night.”

And the words Cowley had used...

“He'll learn to come to terms with it.”

How was it going to come to terms with it? Not on his own, that was for sure. Bodie suddenly realised what he needed to do. The decision made, he pushed his chair away as he stood up and strode to the bar. 

“Sir, sorry, forget that drink. I’m...”

Cowley turned around to look at him, the surprise on his face quickly turning to understanding.

“Aye, laddie, I think you probably are,” he said. “Go on, get on with you.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Bodie, flashing him a grateful smile before walking quickly away through the crowded pub.  
Cowley watched him go then turned back to the barmaid with a sigh. “You’d better make it a large one, my dear.” 

******** 

It took three attempts on the bell before Doyle came to the door, enough time for Bodie to start to get worried.  
Eventually the door opened slowly inwards with Doyle leant against the frame, his eyes only just open. 

“Yeah?” he said, rubbing his eye with his knuckle.

“Blimey,” said Bodie, pushing past him into the flat. “When you said you were tired you weren’t kidding, were you?”

Doyle shut the door and followed him back into the lounge. “Fell asleep on the couch,” he said, as he plonked himself back down on it, looking for all the world like he was about fall immediately back to sleep.

“Oh no,” said Bodie, getting hold of his hands and pulling on them. “If you’re that knackered then you should be in bed. Not good for you sleeping on a sofa.”

He managed to get Doyle standing again and guided him to the bedroom, turning down the sheets. 

“Come on, shed ‘em.”

“Wha?”

“Your clothes. You can’t sleep in that suit.”

“Oh. Right.” Clumsily, Doyle shrugged off his jacket and trousers, the tie having been discarded the minute he’d got in his car. Standing in front of Bodie in his socks and shirt, he looked like a big kid who needed looking after. 

“Can I go to bed now?” he pleaded, hardly able to keep his eyes open.

Bodie pulled back the sheets and pulled at Doyle’s arm. “In,” he ordered.

Obediently, Doyle clambered into the bed, pulled the sheets up and within seconds was fast asleep. He was emotionally and physically exhausted. Bodie stood for a moment looking down at his partner, uncertain emotions running through him. They’d shared enough time together all these years, asleep and awake. And it was obvious to Bodie that Doyle needed a bit of support after a hellish few days. Well Bodie wasn’t ready to leave him alone, not now. So after a moment or two’s hesitation he took off his jacket and kicked his shoes across the room, then made himself comfortable on the bed, on top of the covers. Intending only watch over Doyle while he slept Bodie found his eyelids sliding shut in time to the rhythmic breathing of his partner. It wasn’t long before he joined him in a much needed and welcome sleep. 

********

As much in tune with each other as ever, Bodie came to consciousness within minutes of Doyle doing the same. 

“What’s the time?” said Doyle into the darkness, his voice betraying how tired he still was.

Bodie pushed the light button on his watch. “3.30,” he confirmed.

“In the morning?”

“Yeah.”

“Ugh.” A hand reached out and turned the bedside lamp on, bathing them both in soft light.

Doyle squinted across the bed. “Where’d you come from, then?”

Bodie suddenly felt incredibly self conscious. Somehow he’d worked himself under the covers in his sleep and, by the look on Doyle’s face, he’d obviously made the wrong call. He started to shift in the bed. “Came to see if you were alright,” he said, blushing slightly.

“Oh.”

Bodie coughed. “Er...it’s okay, I’ll go. I just thought...doesn’t matter. I’ll go.” He started to push the covers back but Doyle grabbed his arm.

“Will you just wait a minute, Bodie.”

“You don’t want me here.”

“Did I say that? Just give me a second to bloody well wake up.” Doyle shook his head slightly. “Tea. I need tea. If I make tea will you stay here, please?” 

Bodie swallowed, his mouth dry. He nodded. 

Doyle winked at him and got up, yawning as he walked to the kitchen. 

Bodie fell back onto the pillow. Shit. What was he doing here? Rolling onto his side he got out of the bed and padded to the bathroom. If he was having tea he’d have to make some room for it. 

When Doyle came back with two steaming mugs, Bodie was sat on the edge of the bed looking up at him.  
Doyle passed a mug across. 

“Cheers.” Bodie sipped at his tea. 

Doyle sat down on the bed opposite him. “I asked you to stay put,” he said, twirling his spoon absent mindedly.

“Wasn’t sure you meant it.”

“I meant it,” said Doyle, quickly. They sipped their tea in silence. Doyle stared into his teacup. “So you came to see if I was alright.” Bodie nodded. “Was nice, that.”

Bodie grabbed a bit of courage. “Ray, if you want me to go, I’ll go. I just thought, well, it’s been a shit few weeks. I thought maybe you’d want to talk or...something.”

“Or something... yeah... something.”

“Ray?”

“Always sleep in your clothes, do you?”

“I didn’t intend to fall asleep at all.”

Doyle tutted. “Cretin. Well you’d better take them off and come back to bed.”

“Oh.” Bodie put his tea cup down and licked his lips. “Right.”

“To sleep.”

"What else?"

"Well I dunno, do I?"

“You should be so lucky.”

And it was the most natural thing in the world, as they both fell back into a deep untroubled sleep. 

18\. Man Without A Past

It had been a long day. In fact it’s true to say it had been a long week. Julia slipped off her headset for a moment, sighing as she rubbed at a sore spot behind one ear. She sat back in her chair and looked over to the window, allowing herself a brief glimpse of the outside world. She hadn’t even noticed what the weather had been like today. ‘It’s good to be busy at work’, her Mother’s words rang through her head. ‘It makes the day go by faster.’ But here in CI5 busy was bad. Busy meant the possibility of lives being lost. 

Her thoughts were disturbed by a steaming mug of tea being placed on the desk in front of her. 

“Penny for ‘em?”

Startled, she looked up, gazing straight into Benny’s twinkling eyes. “Thanks,” she said. Then her eyes narrowed, instantly suspicious. “What are you after?”

“Oh, come on,” said Benny, perching himself on the corner of her desk. “Can’t a man make a lady a cup of tea anymore? You just looked like you needed one.”

She relaxed and smiled, sighing as she picked up the mug. “Sorry. Thanks, Benny.”

Benny leaned back and casually crossed his arms. “So, you finished with that Fireman, then?”

“Hmm,” she said, taking a sip of tea. 

“What happened?”

“He went back to his wife.”

“Ouch!”said Benny, pulling a face. 

“Exactly.” She sipped her tea again. 

Julia’s initial instincts had been right, of course. Benny was after something. In fact he was after her and had been for some time. 

“So...” said Benny, not exactly sure how to phrase it, now the moment was actually here. He’d been working up to this for a while now. The other agents had been teasing him mercilessly all week and a flat refusal was going to take some living down. “Erm...”

She looked up at him again, her head tilted to one side. “What’s up?” she asked. Before he could say anything else a red light flashed on the switchboard and she quickly put her headset back on. “Sorry,” she said, smiling at him. “Duty calls.”

She pressed the button to accept the call. 

“2.4,” she began, but before she could continue a hushed, desperate voice cut in.

“It’s Doyle, it’s Ray Doyle, 4.5.” Julia’s smile froze and she instinctively pressed the button to put the call on loudspeaker so that Benny could listen. The whisper continued. “Get a trace on this call, as soon as you can.” 

Benny grabbed the phone on the next desk, dialling through to the high security number that would instantly trace the call. 

“It’s Ray, it’s 4.5, Ray Doyle,” his voice started to break. “Put a trace on this call...” And then Doyle screamed.

They listened in horror as Doyle was attacked, hearing him being repeatedly punched and kicked. His cries echoed around the CI5 control room. 

The background sound of the phone call continued, agonising for them both to witness. Doyle was being viciously beaten and there was nothing they could do to help him. 

Another man’s voice cried out, “Peter, Peter let me! Peter, no!” There was confusion, men’s voices shouting, then the sounds faded into the distance. 

And then there was quiet except for the terrible sound of Doyle, obviously lying very close to the phone, his breathing laboured, evidently in great pain. 

Julia pulled herself together, her training kicking in. Keep him talking. Keep him calm. “Ray, can you hear me?”

His response was a pain filled, broken sob.

“It’s all right, Ray.” She glanced up to Benny for confirmation, who nodded. “The trace is on, just try to keep on the line for a few seconds more.”

“Send...help,” Doyle whispered, the words obviously a struggle. 

“We’ll be there as soon as the address clears. Can you hold on?”

“Not...sure...”

“Are you on your own?”

There was a pause for a few seconds as if Doyle was listening, trying to work out where the men had gone. “Coming...back...”

“Ray?”

“Bodie...”

“Ray?”

The line went dead. 

“Ray? Can you hear me?” Julia checked the connection then looked up at Benny, her cheeks pink, the threat of tears making her eyes glisten. “The line’s dead,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” said Benny, turning the phone towards him. “Well let’s get on to Cowley quick, so they can get there before Ray is.”

*******

After making the call to Cowley Benny pulled up a spare chair and took Julia’s hand in his. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“It’s what I’m trained for, Benny,” she replied, pulling herself together. ”Stop making such a fuss.”

“Yeah, but I don’t blame you for being upset.” 

Julia looked into his eyes. He was a nice guy, Benny. A bit daft sometimes, but nice. 

They moved a little closer. 

The red light flashed. 

Benny raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, for...”

“2.4.”

“3.7.” Bodie’s voice sounded all business like. “Julia, love, I’m on my way. What exactly did Doyle say?”

Julia hesitated, momentarily confused. “Didn’t Alpha One explain?”

“No, just said to get there as fast as possible. Why?”

She couldn’t find the words to tell him. Benny gave her a questioning look. “Shall I?” he asked. She nodded in response and he leaned forward to press the button on the intercom. 

“Bodie, it’s Benny. Look mate, Doyle, it’s not good.”

“Why?”

“He was in a bad way, we could hear them beating him up. We were trying to keep him talking but he got cut off. I think they pulled the plug.”

There was silence as Bodie processed the information. 

“Bodie?”

“I’m five minutes away. Is that going to be fast enough?” His voice was clipped, short. 

“I don’t know. He was in pain, apparently unarmed and out-numbered. I’d put your foot down if I were you.”

Again the silence followed by some static, then a curt, “3.7 out.”

“Will Bodie get there in time?” asked Julia, quietly.

Benny took her hand again, stroking the back of it. “This is Ray Doyle,” he said, reassuringly. “Of course he will.”

And the red light flashed. 

 

 

19\. In The Public Interest

“So, do you reckon Cowley swings both ways then?”

Doyle looked across the car to his partner who was wearing what can only be described as an evil grin on his face. He switched into top gear before answering. “What?”

“Well he never married, did he?”

“There was that Annie Irving woman. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten her.”

“Yes, but they still never married, did they?” insisted Bodie. 

“Sounded to me like that was more her decision than his,” said Doyle, thinking back to what Charlie had told them that day. “Anyway, why does that mean he swings both ways?”

“Because we’re being sent off to the back of beyond to help some Gay Rights group.”

Doyle threw him another sideways glance. “Well if not us, who should be helping them? We don’t have a gay branch of CI5.”

Bodie snorted. “You know what I mean, Ray.”

“No, not really,” said Doyle, keeping his attention on the road. 

“Oh forget it,” said Bodie, bored with the conversation now he couldn’t get his partner to share his joke.

“No, come on Bodie,” said Doyle. “What exactly is your problem with gays? Don’t they have the same rights as everybody else?”

“Bunch of poofters,” muttered Bodie, turning his head to look out of the window. 

“You, my son,” said Doyle, jabbing a finger at Bodie’s arm, “have got a problem. And if I were you I’d get it sorted pretty damned quick.”

“Got sympathetic tendencies, have we?” asked Bodie, sarcastically. 

Doyle stared at the road ahead, unsure of whether to confide in his partner or not. They’d known each other long enough now. He couldn’t quite get why Bodie was such a bigot at times but had always guessed it came from his difficult upbringing and past, not that he ever talked much about it. 

“Well?” Bodie wasn’t giving up.

“I’ve experimented in the past,” admitted Doyle, suddenly taking courage. “Hasn’t everybody?” 

Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on your point of view, the next junction was extremely busy and required all Doyle’s attention so he wasn’t able to judge the look on Bodie’s face. 

Bodie cleared his throat. “Got anything else you want to tell me?” he asked, quietly.

“I’ll talk as much as you like,” said Doyle. “But it’s a game for two players, mate, and you never want to play.”

Silence echoed around the car.

“And stop sulking,” added Doyle.

“I don’t sulk!” said Bodie, indignantly. 

“Oh, no, of course you don’t!”

“I don’t!”

“Biggest pout in the known world…”

“And I don’t pout!”

"Yeah, like we don't bicker!"

Bodie immediately pouted and when Doyle saw the sulky expression on his face, he burst out into an evil cackle.  
Still chuckling, he turned the car Northwards.

 

 

 

 

20\. Not A Very Civil, Civil Servant

“Cuppa for you, guv.” 

Reardon glanced up from his report as the mug was placed on the desk before him. “Yeah, thanks, Mike.” He took the opportunity to stretch his back, tired from hours of writing his report. 

“Nearly done?”

“I don’t know. Bloody thing. Wish it would write itself.”

“Where’d you get to last night?” asked Mike as he perched on the edge of the desk. “The lads were asking after you. I think it was your round.”

“It usually is.” Reardon managed a smile through his tiredness. “I was out with those two CI5 fellas.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Looking for a sideways move, eh?” said Mike, a teasing smile on his lips.

“What? To CI5?” Reardon warmed his hands around the mug. “You have got to be joking.”

Mike breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. At least that was one rumour he was going to be able to put to bed. “So are they helping us, or are you helping them?”

“Since when did the Fraud Squad need CI5’s help, eh?”

“True. Get anything juicy out of them?”

“Except for a few pints? Nah. Gave them a few old pearls of wisdom, you know how it is. Taught them how to win a fight the clever way.” Reardon drained his mug and handed it back to Mike who stood up and turned away, ready to leave his boss to his work again. 

Almost as an afterthought he turned back as he reached the doorway. “What were they like, these two CI5 blokes?” he asked. 

Reardon considered the question for a moment, thinking back to the evening he had spent with them and the easy way they had been with each other. “Close,” he said and added, begrudgingly. “A bloody good team.”

Mike nodded, intrigued despite himself, then left his boss to his thoughts.  

21\. A Stirring Of Dust  
I didn’t know my Grandfather, he died before I was born. But my Mum did give me one thing that had belonged to him. It was an old penny, the kind we had before decimalisation except this one was a bit special. Two penny’s had somehow been forged together so it had two heads but no tails. According to Mum the old man used to play tricks on his mates with it and, when I got big enough, she thought maybe I’d have fun doing the same. 

I soon learned to pick my moments and only to use it when it was a prize I really wanted. And then I learned not to con my mates. Winning in this way might give you a short feeling of superiority at the time but the guilt soon got to you. You had to be a certain kind of person to cheat for your own gain and the feeling just didn’t sit well with me. 

I’d never forgotten about the penny and always kept it on me somewhere, usually in a jacket or jeans pocket. And occasionally it still came in handy. But somehow, even after all these years, Bodie still hasn’t caught on. You need to understand that when it comes to bets we’re both as straight as an unloaded die. I flick the coin, Bodie calls it. What could be fairer than that? He never has to check the result – he trusts me. So when I need to, and I’m sorry to admit this, it’s easy to con him. But I don’t feel bad about it because these days, compared to those early days of learning when I was a kid, I never use it in order to win. Oh no. But I’ll take the risk if it means I get to lose, because that means I keep Bodie out of trouble. He’ll cover my back, I know that for sure, but I’d rather be out there in danger with him covering me than the other way around. 

If anything happened to Bodie when I was supposed to be covering him, well, I’d never be able to live with myself. 

So I lose the toss, every time. 

22\. Blind Run

Doyle pushed open the door of the hospital room but paused before entering, immediately recognising his partner’s firm and insistent voice. 

“Your name is Charlie, you are not going to die.”

The reply was so faint Doyle could hardly hear it, but at least it was a reply. “But Bodie...”

“You’re gonna keep nice and still and keep breathing. Remember?”

There was a pause then a weak, “I remember.”

“Good,” said Bodie, his tone not one to argue with. “As long as we understand each other.”

“Did he get away? The guy?”

“Yeah. He got away.”

“So we did okay?”

“Yeah. We did okay. You did okay.”

“What about Leyton?” asked Charlie, insistently. 

“Leyton’s just fine,” said Doyle, finally stepping into the room and approaching the bedside. 

Bodie was sitting by the bed but leaning forward so he could talk to Charlie without him having to move. He looked up at Doyle with a grim expression on his face. “Same idea as me?” he asked, quietly.

“Looks like it.” Doyle perched carefully on the edge of the bed, folding his arms across his chest. “So after all that he’s going to be okay then? Bloody marvellous. Wouldn’t have broken my date if I’d known.”

“All that eastern promise gone to waste, eh?” said Bodie.

“Yeah,” said Doyle, casually ignoring the patient while at the same time knowing his every word and move was being watched. This was no time for the soft approach; Charlie would assume he was done for once and for all if they started being nice to him. “Wish I hadn’t bothered now, of course, not now I can see everything’s fine. Have you seen the time?”

“Gone midnight, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, we’d both in bed now, if we hadn’t come here. By the way, how’d it go with Phillipa?”

“Same as you, from the sound of it,” admitted Bodie. “Couldn’t really give her the attention she deserved, not while I knew that the Sheik of Bethnal Green here was lying around in bed skiving on tax payer’s money.”

“Two dates gone up in smoke then,” said Doyle, with a sigh. “All for Charlie.”

“All for Charlie.”  
Finally, they both turned their attention back to the patient, who was watching them with tears building in his eyes. 

“Thanks lads,” he started to say, but Doyle stopped him with a pointing finger.

“None of that,” he said with a gentle smile, his eyes suddenly very kind. “Just get well, okay?”

Charlie nodded, managing a weak smile of his own. “Okay.”

And as the night nurse came to hurry his visitors away Charlie closed his eyes and slept, a smile still playing on his lips.  
 

23\. Fall Girl  
Doyle took the stairs two at a time, pausing for a moment when he realised that Bodie’s door was ajar. Sloppy, he thought, but perhaps understandable under the circumstances. He didn’t know what Cowley had tried to say to Bodie when he had finally caught up with him, but he saw him being pushed away with some force. He had been expecting the same treatment but here was Bodie’s door, open and apparently inviting him in. 

Silently he stepped inside and pushed the door shut behind him with a click. He set the lock to avoid an angry phone call from HQ before padding down the hallway, then he stopped in the doorway of the lounge with his head cocked to one side, taking in the scene before him. 

He jumped a little as Marikka’s voice floated around the flat. 

“What’s the matter with you? Don’t you trust Bodie?”

Bodie was sat on the edge of his settee leaning forward as he stared at the tape player. He reached forward to stop the tape then pressed rewind and play.

“What’s the matter with you? Don’t you trust Bodie?”

At exactly the same moment as before, he once again stopped and re-wound the tape and pressed play again. 

“What’s the matter with you? Don’t you trust Bodie?”

Doyle winced. How long had he been sitting here like this?

Again Bodie pressed buttons on the player, this time fast forwarding for a few seconds.

“I can’t bear it. You’re trying in your head to prove Bodie guilty.”

Part of Doyle wanted desperately to leave Bodie alone with his anger and grief but he knew he couldn’t go. He couldn’t leave him like this. This wasn’t healthy. 

“I can’t bear it. You’re trying in your head to prove Bodie guilty.”

Bodie put his hand out to the tape player once more but before he could carry out his action Doyle moved towards the settee and placed his hand over Bodie’s. 

“Bodie?”

The silence fell heavily between them. Bodie didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge his partner’s presence at all. He just pushed his arm up forcing Doyle’s hand away, then calmly pressed play. 

“I can’t bear it. You’re trying in your head to prove Bodie guilty.”

Doyle replaced his hand, not giving up. 

“Bodie. Stop now.” 

He moved his hand to the tense shoulders. Bodie made a sound that could have been a gasp or a sob then leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. 

“Go away,” he whispered. 

“Bodie, let me...”

“What? Let you what? Exactly?” Bodie pushed Doyle away with some force and stood up, striding across the room until he reached the window where he turned back to glare at Doyle, who was still leaning against the back of the sofa. 

Bodie let rip. “I can’t trust you, Cowley, or anyone anymore! Have you any idea what she meant to me? I nearly got killed today and now she’s dead! What do you want from me, Doyle? What do any of you want from me?”

Doyle spread his hands in a gesture of openness. “Bodie, you were in it up to your neck. I had to do something to get you out.”

“Even if it meant her having to die?”

“I didn’t want that, didn’t know it was going to happen.”

“So why not keep her in the Safehouse until it was all over?”

“Because, my son,” Doyle approached him slowly as if he were approaching a nervous dog who might bite at any minute. “You demanded to see her, to talk to her.”

“So it was all my fault?” Bodie’s voice started to break. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, not your fault, mate. You were being used, just like she was.” Doyle stopped two feet away from him. “Bodie? I’m sorry you think you can’t trust me, because you can. One day, who knows, it could be you investigating me or my girl. In the job we’re in we’ll have to do difficult things sometimes. But I’ll always trust you, please believe me.”

Bodie strode back across the room, pushing past Doyle on his way. “I don’t know who to trust anymore.” He pressed play on the tape recorder, pushing down on the button with force.

“I can’t bear it. You’re trying in your head to prove Bodie guilty.” 

He pressed stop and stood like a statue as they both listened to the echo of the words floating around the room. 

Doyle walked up calmly behind him, reached across and pressed play. His own voice immediately projected from the machine. 

“I’m trying to prove Bodie innocent.” 

Doyle pressed stop then pulled the lead out of the back of the player. 

“You can always trust me, Bodie,” he said, putting his hand back on Bodie’s shoulder. 

He was there to catch him as he fell. 

 

24\. Backtrack  
At last the weather was being kind, the wind had dropped and Bodie’s plans for the weekend were finally back on track. He’d avoided any awkward questions from his partner without having to resort to outright lying and got up early on Saturday morning to make his way to Duxford. Now, at last, he was there and with a deep breath he locked his car and walked across to the hanger where a small group of people were already starting to gather. With an excited smile on his face he checked in and shook hands with the instructor, then took his seat inside. He could hardly believe he was finally here. The weekend introduction to parachuting had been cancelled three times due to poor weather and he’d been on tender hooks for weeks now. He knew Doyle had suspected something was up but didn’t want to tell him of his plans; not because he didn’t trust him but because he didn’t want Doyle to have to lie on his behalf and he would have had to if Cowley had asked him any direct questions. 

Parachuting, in fact any dangerous sport, was frowned upon by the CI5 controller because it meant his valuable commodities might get themselves damaged - it was okay for them to get injured in his time but not in their own. Bodie was determined that wasn’t going to happen. He was going to listen, do exactly what he was told and enjoy his first ever civilian parachute jump. He had great plans to develop his skills and turn this into a proper hobby but first he had to go through the relevant training and get all the correct certification. He knew he needed eighteen static line jumps before he could progress to intermediate status, so he sat back and listened carefully to the instructor as he guided them through the rules and regulations. There wasn’t much Bodie didn’t already know about the mechanics of parachuting but he was coming to the sport as a civilian now instead of from a military perspective and he needed to make sure he got everything right. So he made copious notes and took in every single word offered to him. 

After a light lunch they moved outside and, once again, Bodie threw himself into the exercises set them by the trainers. He jogged around the field to warm up then took turns with the others to jump off a series of walls which increased in height each time. The instructor shouted at them like a Sergeant Major, “Knees and feet together”, “Keep your hands out of the way until you’re flat on the ground” and “Keep your head up”, as over and over again they jumped off the walls. Then they were shown the emergency procedures of how to use their reserve chute if the main failed to open. Twenty times over they practised the routine. 

Bodie loved every minute.  
After an exhausting but highly rewarding afternoon he was told to report back the next morning at 10am and with huge relief he made his way to a local B&B.

Lying in bed on the verge of sleep he wondered yet again if he should have rung Doyle and told him what he was doing. But no, he’d made his bed, he was going to have to lie in it. This was one thing he was going to have to do alone. 

He sighed, rolled over and drifted to sleep, his dreams full of blue skies and white fluffy clouds that surrounded him and kept him afloat in the sky for hours and hours and hours. 

********

The next morning he made his way back to the airfield and as he parked the car he was a little taken aback to see an ambulance in the car park. He strolled over to the others and asked what was going on. 

“There was a broken leg in the first run this morning,” he was told by a worried looking chap who was already dressed in his flight suit. 

“Well that’s good, isn’t it?” said Bodie. “It means that’s our one injury of the day; all the other drops will be fine now.”

Full of confidence, he walked into the hanger to get ready. 

After another twenty minutes he emerged from the hanger dressed in his bright orange jumpsuit and helmet, his parachute fixed firmly to his back and the reserve stuck on his front in a somewhat ungainly fashion. He didn’t care what he looked like; he couldn’t wait to get up in that plane. Bodie and the others in his group signed in one by one then sat in number order on the bench, waiting for the instruction to board the plane. He looked around at the nervous faces, giving them encouraging smiles. 

The instructor explained how he was going to remain on the ground to monitor their progress while the other trainer would go up with them in the plane. 

"If any of you feel you are not going to be able to jump, please" he said, with some emphasis, "do not stand in the open doorway thinking about it. We have a tight schedule, our air space is booked and we need to get you all out and dropped in the same area. If you're not going to jump step immediately back and let someone else take your place, even if it means you go to the end of the queue to try again after everyone else has gone."

A dozen pairs of eyes gazed up at him. It was all starting to feel very real. 

After a short and nervous wait they were told to walk across to the small white aircraft, keeping in number order all the way. Carefully they started to embark, their movements made clumsy by the bulky equipment strapped to their bodies. But Bodie knew that once they were up in the air none of that mattered and he quickly took his place on the floor of the aircraft, sitting with his knees bent and his feet flat on the floor in front of him. 

And then they were off. 

It seemed to take forever to achieve the correct altitude although it was probably only a matter of minutes. Then, at last, the trainer was pulling Bodie into a standing position so that he could queue behind the others as they lined up along the wall of the plane.  
The green light came on to indicate that they had reached the necessary altitude, then the exit hatch was thrown open and his fellow ‘virgins’ started to file out of the plane one by one, each pausing momentarily before making their own final, courageous leap into the unknown.

And then it was Bodie’s turn. 

He’d done this before, he wasn’t nervous. He stood in the doorway, gripping the edge of the hatch with his hands. Remembering his training he checked over his shoulder to make sure his line was hooked up correctly then he turned back to the trainer. The man gave him a smile and wink then shouted “Go!” and Bodie thrust himself out of the hatchway and into the blue. 

It was strange, Bodie thought to himself afterwards, what happened next. Because he couldn’t remember anything from the first few moments of the jump. The first he knew was that he was floating in mid-air, gazing down at his dangling feet. He glanced up, instantly relieved to see the large blue canopy fully expanded above him. But he had no recollection of it opening. He appeared to have greyed out during the crucial initial moments of the jump, something that could have been really dangerous if he hadn’t been on a static line. He’d never done that before, in all his jumps in the military. 

Blue sky enveloped him and he gazed at the horizon and the patchwork quilt of fields that surrounded the airfield, immediately spotting the huge white cross that he was supposed to be aiming for. He experimented with the pull chords, trying to direct the chute towards his final destination. It was a very basic parachute and not easy to manoeuvre, but he tried his best. 

“This is fantastic!” came a cry from above him, making Bodie grin widely. For a moment there he’d almost forgotten the other members of the group. 

A thought flashed into his head. He had to share this with Doyle. Next weekend or as soon as he could arrange it. Doyle, he knew, would love it. 

Bodie was so caught up in the experience that he hadn’t realised how quickly his two thousand feet height advantage was disappearing. 

His attention was abruptly distracted from his attempts at manoeuvring the chute by a strong voice shouting from below. 

“Get your fucking feet together! Now!”

There was no time to curse himself or anyone else. He rammed his knees and ankles together and tried to prepare for the landing that was coming up way too fast. 

With a thud he hit the ground, pain jarring immediately up one leg as first his foot then his knee, hip and finally shoulder all made contact with a suddenly very firm farmer’s field. His chute sailed to the ground beside him and he tried immediately to get up, intending to reel the chute in before it re-inflated with air and started to pull him along the ground. But one step and he was down again, his leg burning like fire. The sound of pounding feet came closer as the instructor reached him and grabbed at his chute, wrapping the cords expertly from arm to arm to contain them in a neat bundle. 

“You stupid bastard!” said the instructor as he finally got the chute under control. “What did I tell you all bloody day yesterday?”  
“Keep your feet together?” replied Bodie, faintly. 

He collapsed back on the ground, watching with growing embarrassment as the other members of the group all landed nearby, every one of them managing to do so in one piece.  
He closed his eyes in dismay as the ambulance sirens started up in the distance. 

Oh god. He would never live this down. And on top of that, Doyle and Cowley were going to kill him.  
 

25\. Servant of Two Masters

It’s strange how funny the smallest things seem when you’re drunk. The simple act of watching Doyle struggling to find his front door key was enough to send Bodie into a fit of hysterical giggles. He collapsed against his partner, hampering his efforts even more as he laughed so hard he could barely breathe. 

“Bloody thing,” hiccupped Doyle, struggling now to stay upright with Bodie’s extra weight leaning on him. “I know it’s here (hic) somewhere.”

“S’easy,” advised Bodie, through heavy giggling breaths. “Just stick it in!”

“S’alright for you (hic) to say,” slurred Doyle. “But if I can’t find (hic) it in the first (hic) place, how am I supposed to (hic) stick anything?”

Bodie snorted with glee, right into Doyle’s ear. 

With a cry of victory the key somehow found its way into the lock and both men lurched forward through the now open door.

“Save the chips!” cried Bodie as he grabbed for the two greasy newspaper parcels before they could tumble to the floor.

With a deft move worthy of any kung fu warrior Doyle simultaneously kicked the door shut behind them, twisted around in mid air and snatched the packages out of Bodie’s grasp, before staggering into the lounge at full pelt. 

As he collapsed onto the sofa he tossed one of the parcels to Bodie who made an excellent job of catching it, considering the state he was in. 

Suddenly ravenous in a way that only the truly inebriated can really appreciate, they tore open the newspaper with a total lack of regard to furnishings or clothing and started to shovel chips into their mouths with clumsy fingers.

“Bloody (hic) lovely,” said Doyle, licking vinegar off his thumb. 

“You know the deshinition of the perfect woman?” asked Bodie, waving a particularly long chip at his partner. 

Doyle shook his head, mouth too full of chips to answer.

“Lives over a chip shop, next to a pub, fucks like a rabbit...”

“And turns into a bacon sandwich at three in the morning!” finished Doyle quickly, laughing so hard he nearly dropped his chips again. 

Bodie slumped back onto the sofa, simply unable to keep himself upright. 

Beside him Doyle had stopped eating due to a succession of six ferocious hiccups. 

Bodie leaned up on one elbow and stared intently at his partner. “Want me to shove a key down your back?” he asked, deadly serious. 

Doyle shook his head, his lips pursed together as he made a valiant attempt at holding his breath. 

“Ah,” nodded Bodie. “Thas a good one. Usually works, that.”

Doyle nodded, still holding his breath and hiccupping every ten seconds.

“Or,” continued Bodie. “Drink a pint of water backwards.” He paused as he thought about it. “Or is it upside down?”

Doyle was going a bit blue. 

“Bet I know how to get rid of em, for sure,” said Bodie, now with some confidence. 

Doyle looked a little concerned but carried on holding his breath. 

“What you need is...” and at a speed faster that you could imagine, Bodie leaned forward and planted a big wet greasy kiss on Doyle’s lips. “A shock!” he gasped, bursting out into another fit of giggles. 

All the captured air in Doyle’s cheeks expended in a rush. “What the fuck was that?!”

Bodie grinned his most charming smile. “Got rid of your hiccups, didn’t I?” 

Recovering quickly Doyle shook his head a little, paused, then smiled back, suddenly sober. 

“I wonder about you, sometimes.”  
 

26\. The Madness of Mickey Hamilton

The strange thing about death is nobody can truly predict when your last breath is going to be. You could pour your heart out to a loved one because you think they’re going to die any moment, only to have them live another twenty years and never forgive you for giving up on them. Or you could be blind to the facts and cling on to hope, only to have them drift away in front of you without giving either of you the chance to say those important final words. 

So when Doyle pulled up a chair and sat by the bedside of little Cathy Hamilton, he really had no idea that her life was drawing to its close. He understood from Sister Agatha that the child probably couldn’t hear or understand him but he felt that he owed Mickey something, some way of fulfilling his final wish; so he was here.

He stared at the bed, feeling overwhelmed by the whole situation. Knowing Bodie had followed him into the room he looked up at him for reassurance, his partner giving him a nod from where he stood by the door.

“I don’t know what to say,” admitted Doyle.

“Yeah, you do,” said Bodie, quietly.

“She can’t even hear me.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Right.” He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. “Er, Cathy,” he began, hesitantly. “My name’s Ray. Your Dad wanted me to come; he said I should come and see you.” He struggled to get some kind of connection with the little girl lying so still and quiet in the bed, but the oxygen tent kept him removed and distant. “Your Dad,” he continued. “He was trying to put things right, things that had happened to you and your Mum. I want you to know...well, that he’s away from all the pain now. He really loved you, Cathy.”

At that point Sister Agatha joined them and moved over to the far side of the bed, checking on Cathy’s life signs. After a few moments she let out a sad sigh, tucking the pale slim arm back under the covers and patting it gently. “She’s passed on, Mr Doyle,” she confirmed. “She’s at peace now.”

“What?” Doyle was momentarily confused. All the death he had seen in his life had been violent, not this gentle slipping away that nobody else in the room had even noticed. 

“We’ve been expecting this,” said Sister Agatha. “The family are together now, with God. “ She smiled kindly at Doyle then quietly left the room. 

Bodie moved towards his partner and placed his hand on Doyle’s shoulder. “It’s alright, sunshine,” he said, taken by surprise when Doyle pushed both his hand and the chair away, anger bristling as he got to his feet. 

“Is it?” Doyle hissed. “I couldn’t even give her that much before she died.”

“You don’t know that,” said Bodie, his voice full of calm patience. “She might have heard every word. It might have helped her at the end. You did your best.”

“Yeah?” said Doyle, still bitter. “Did I? Or did I fail them both?” 

“You’re not God,” said Bodie.

“No!” agreed Doyle. “And where the hell was he when he was needed, eh?”

Bodie stepped out of the way just in time as his partner pushed past him and strode out of the room.

As the dust settled, peace once again returned to the room. Bodie walked over to the bed to take a final look at an innocent child who never had a chance at happiness. Sunshine poured in through the window, making the dust particles dance in the light. 

Blinking away a tear, Bodie turned away to find his partner.  
 

27\. Stopover

“Oh, very nice, that is. ‘You must have been followed.’ ‘No more mistakes.’ ‘You were my best men.’ It’s always our bloody fault, isn’t it? Never Meredith’s. Never Cowley’s.” Doyle threw himself into the corner of Bodie’s sofa, heeled his trainers off and pulled his legs up under him. 

“Make yourself comfy,” said Bodie, with more than a hint of sarcasm as he diverted to the fridge to get a couple of lagers before joining his partner on the sofa. 

“There’s something wrong with this whole thing,” Doyle rattled on as he took delivery of his can. “You mark my words.”

“Just leave it out, eh Doyle?”

“What?” Doyle looked blankly at Bodie as if he was totally unaware of where he was or how he had got there.

“You,” said Bodie. “We’re off duty now. Not for long, I grant you, but I for one don’t want to keep talking about bloody Cusak, Meredith and Cowley the whole bloody night!”

Doyle blinked across at him. “Oh,” he said, sipping at his lager can. 

“Sorry, mate,” said Bodie, feeling immediately guilty at his own over reaction. “It’s just...”

“No, I get it,” said Doyle. “You don’t want to talk about work.”

“Yeah.”

“Well okay then.” 

The silence continued, broken only by the sound of determined slurping. 

“Wanna get pissed?” asked Bodie, eventually.

“Work tomorrow.”

Bodie had what seemed to be the obvious answer to the problem. “We can grab a hair of the dog in the morning before going to RAF Manley.”

Doyle considered his partner sideways for a moment before shifting slightly in his seat so he could stretch across the small lounge to turn the TV on. “You’re on.”

Bodie smiled at the easy way Doyle made himself at home. For some time now he’d been allowing himself a private fantasy where maybe they were sharing a flat together, and tonight it seemed even easier to imagine as he watched Doyle snorting his disapproval at the latest news reports. In Bodie’s fantasy everything was so easy. He’d make his move and Doyle would be there, ready and waiting. 

He sipped his lager, dreamily, wondering how his fantasy self would eventually end up in bed with fantasy Doyle. Would it be for comfort when one of them was feeling low, or a drunken fumble when one of them had drunk too much to drive home? Would they give it a try in order to win a bet, or because one of their girlfriends fancied a threesome? 

There had been some occasions when he’d even allowed himself to believe ‘it’ might really happen. It might have happened after the court case where Geraldine Mather had ripped Doyle’s feelings to shreds and the partners had ended up in bed together. Or after Alf’s leaving party when Bodie had kissed Ray for the first time; it could’ve happened then but it didn’t. It might have happened the night he took Ray home after seeing Cathy Hamilton, but all his distraught partner had needed then was comfort. 

The one thing he certainly hadn’t expected is that it would happen tonight. Not when there was nothing special to worry about, no injury that needed tending, no drama or angst. It was just the two of them sitting side by side on the sofa, drinking but not drunk, watching the news together. 

When reality finally hit, it was nothing so contrived as all the scenarios going on in his fantasy world. Instead, it was a slow steady fall into each other’s arms, something that took years to build up to, so that when the walls finally crumbled there was nothing to hide the trust they each relied upon. 

And then, and this surprised Bodie more than anything else, it was Doyle who made the first move. Without any words being spoken Bodie found himself lying underneath his partner being gently but determinedly snogged while the Nationwide theme tune played in the background. 

And there was no going back.  
 

28\. Runner

“Let’s leave it.”  
What harm would it do? The car park has been cleared, the police are keeping everybody back - except Cowley who seems to think the warnings don’t apply to him. So that’s his problem, isn’t it? The Bomb Squad are on their way, all we have to do is walk away, Bodie. Why not? Just this once, eh? Not even an hour ago I thought I was going to die and now this. Why is it always you and me who put our lives on the line, every bloody time?

“Let’s pull it.”  
We can’t leave this bomb to go off, anything might happen. There might be somebody in a car nearby who doesn’t realise what’s going on. Or the explosion might be bigger than we’re expecting. And Cowley is getting nearer, so he’s gonna get it too. Come on Doyle, you can do this, I know you can. I trust you with my life. And if it all goes wrong then we go together. That’s right, isn’t it?

“Go.”  
At the moment when their lives may end, Bodie turns towards the car door. He won’t look death in the face. He doesn’t want this, but he knows it’s gonna happen. The muscles in his neck tense. He is connected to Doyle only by the bomb they both hold. Doyle turns his face out to the world with his eyes scrunched shut, his fingers on the wire, their lives in his hands. 

They share a commitment to their future, whatever it may be.

“Bang.”

“Yeah. “

Gasping, panting breaths. The relief, the laughter, the connection. Their eyes meet. They know that they would have died together as they lived together. Full of passion, energy, vitality. 

Always together. 

Doyle drove home in silence, the radio turned off. His initial smiling relief at defusing the bomb had deteriorated into a rapid depression. As Cowley had sent them on their way, he remembered looking at Bodie’s face as it turned white as a sheet, as he realised the full enormity of what had happened. What they had risked. 

They had said their goodbyes and left in their two separate cars to go home to two empty flats. Doyle pulled up outside his, his heart heavy. Shit, what a day. He put his arms on the steering wheel and rested his head on them, taking a moment of peace and quiet for himself, just a few minutes away from the madness. He kept coming back to one thing. What if. 

With a shudder he pulled himself together and got out of the car, yanking his jacket off the passenger seat and slamming the door and locking it. As he walked towards his flat, head down, he heard the sound of feet on the pavement behind him and he spun around to see Bodie walking towards him very fast, his own car parked just a little further down the street. 

“What’s up?” asked Doyle, confused. “Did I forget something?”

Bodie grabbed his shoulders firmly, looking him straight in the eye. 

“What?” asked Doyle again. 

Bodie paused and seemed to falter slightly, his complexion still as pale as it was when Doyle had last seen him. “I, er, fancied a drink,” he said, in a not very convincing voice. 

Doyle smiled a half smile. “Didn’t fancy going back to an empty flat, eh?” God, he knew how that felt. “Come on then.” He broke free of Bodie’s grasp and fingered his keys as he approached the front door. 

He let them both in and set the locks, throwing his jacket on the chair as he walked over to the whiskey bottle. Pouring out two generous measures he handed a tumbler to Bodie. Bodie chinked his glass against Doyle’s then swallowed the contents down in one before holding it out for a re-fill, looking up at Doyle with eyes that were dark and watery. Doyle obliged, re-filling both their glasses, then he slumped down on the sofa, resting his head back.

Bodie walked over to the window and looked out, the setting summer sun leaving the street in a curious glow. “We could’ve died today, Doyle,” he said quietly, his voice strained and clipped.

“We could die any day, sunshine,” replied Doyle. 

“We should have left that bomb to go off.”

“No, you were right. We couldn’t risk it. Pulling that wire was the only thing we could’ve done.”

“But that could’ve been our moment. The end.” Bodie walked across to the sofa and sat down next to Doyle, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he caressed the glass. 

Doyle ran his fingers through his curls, absent mindedly. “Twice in one hour, eh?”

“What do you mean?”

“Bloody Duffy tried to kill me, didn’t he? The meet was a trap.”

Bodie looked up at him. “You told Cowley the girl shot Duffy, but you didn’t say he’d tried to shoot you first.”

“Yes I did!”

“I was bloody there, Doyle, you didn’t say a thing!”

“Come off it! By the look on your face back there I’m surprised you noticed what day of the week it was, never mind the details of my report to Cowley.”

Bodie paused, the muscles in his neck twitching. “So Duffy tried to kill you?”

“Yeah. He had the drop on me. If it wasn’t for the girl I’d be dead.”

“Jesus Christ, Doyle.” Bodie stood up abruptly and smashed his glass down on the table top as he stormed across the room to kick the metal fire place surround. He put his arm on the mantelpiece, leaning against it with his head down. 

Doyle sighed. He hadn’t realised Bodie wasn’t taking in his report to Cowley, but he should have guessed. He stood up and carefully approached his brooding partner, resting his hand on Bodie’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he said softly, “I’m all right. We’re both all right.”

“Yeah,” said Bodie, his voice muffled as he spoke into his arm. “But how long for, eh?”

“Ah Bodie, don’t you know we’ll be fine as long as we stick together?” 

Bodie turned around at that, his face torn between despair and rage. “But that’s just it, isn’t Doyle? Where was I when Duffy was taking pot shots at you, eh? Why didn’t you ask for backup?”

Doyle looked taken aback for a moment. “It was just Sylvie, asking for a meet to give me information.”

“So you go to a deserted block of flats to meet a girl you don’t trust, without even telling control where you were? And that bastard was just sitting there waiting for you to turn up. You were a sitting duck, for crying out loud!”  
Doyle put his hand on Bodie’s arm but Bodie shook it off immediately. “One call on the radio and I would have been there. I’m meant to be your fucking partner!” Bodie voice broke on the last few words and Doyle tried to take hold of him, to calm him, but Bodie was beyond calming. 

“Bodie, will you calm down for Christ’s sake?” Doyle tried to put his hand on Bodie’s arm once again, but this time Bodie got rid of him by smacking Doyle in the face with the full force of his fist. Doyle staggered backwards, his hands going straight to his nose, eyes watering with the sudden intense pain. He fell back on the sofa, clutching his nose as blood started to drip down his chin. 

“What did you do that for?” he cried, his voice muffled as he tried to hold the top of his nose to stop the bleeding. 

Without a word Bodie strode into the kitchen and grabbed a tea towel, running it under the cold water and wringing it out. He took a box of tissues from the worktop then came back and sat next to Doyle, pulling Doyle’s hand away and mopping the blood with some of the tissues. He checked to see if anything was broken and on deciding that perhaps it wasn’t, he replaced Doyle’s fingers back on the bridge of his nose. “You stupid...” he said, under his breath.

“Me, stupid?” Doyle’s voice was indistinct. “What sort of partner punches you in the nose?”

“An angry one,” said Bodie, lifting Doyle’s head for a moment to check on the damage. He mopped the mess with a few more tissues. “It’s still bleeding.”

“Yeah, thanks for the update,” muttered Doyle, his eyes streaming. 

“Put your head forward,” advised Bodie, putting the wet towel on the back of Doyle’s neck and keeping his hand there in support. 

Doyle did as he was told but not without a slurred, “Well thank you, Doctor fucking Kildare.”

A few minutes went by in silence save for Doyle’s careful sniffing and the sound of Bodie’s hand on the fabric of Doyle’s t-shirt as he rubbed his back in gentle circles. 

“Think it’s stopped,” said Doyle eventually, lifting his head slowly. His watery eyes caught Bodie in their glare. “What was that all about then?” he asked, quietly. 

Bodie sighed. “Because I was angry you didn’t call for back up. Because we both nearly died today. And because I can’t even think about living without you, you stupid, pea brained, hard arsed, golly.”

“Oh,” said Doyle. A half smile playing across his lips. “Well that’s all right then.”

There was a moment that seemed to last forever, where they imperceptibly moved towards each other until their lips were millimetres apart. Time stopped. 

And Bodie started to move back. 

Doyle grabbed his arm, hard. “Oh, no you don’t.” 

“Ray...”

“No Bodie, you’re not backing out on me now.”

“Ray, stop it.”

“Or what? You’ll punch me again? Or get your bottle back and kiss me again? What’s it gonna be, Bodie?”

“I...”

“Just now you said you couldn’t live without me.”

“I meant it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And there was that pause again. 

“Ray...I”

“What? What, Bodie? Why don’t you just say what you’re feeling, for once in your life?”

Oh no. Anything but that. Bodie put his hand around Doyle’s neck and pulled him towards him, not stopping until they were deep in a soft, sensual kiss. 

It worked. They didn’t have to talk now.  
 

29\. A Hiding To Nothing

It started as a harmless bet. After all, what red blooded male could resist that pretty little arse? And you know what they say about Air Hostesses. But that didn’t mean I was going to make it easy for him. A few well timed R/T calls and a spot of pertinent information regarding her sleeping habits soon put paid to any thoughts of a repeat performance. 

So what if he won the bet that time, I still feel like I won in the end. Although the bitter look on his face as they led Miss Jetstream away was a little hard to take; it made me feel like I should try to say something to make him feel a bit better. 

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not getting carried away, or anything like that. I know what me and Doyle get up to between the sheets isn’t permanent any more than it’s a replacement for sex with girls, but it’s still a bloody good way to unwind. 

And from the lump in the front of his trousers I could tell he needed just that. 

There was a lot of clearing up after the op. Cowley barked his orders, the main offenders were cuffed and led away, dead bodies were removed, and when the last ambulance rolled away down the dirt track it just left me and Doyle standing by our cars. 

He looked lost. 

Without a word I grabbed his hand and led him to the dark shelter of the trees. Almost submissive, he tramped through the bracken and mud after me. 

I knew he needed this. And I wanted it. So what was the harm? 

No, this isn’t anything permanent or serious. It’s not love or anything like that. 

And as I took his cock in my mouth and felt his hands tighten on my hair only one thought crossed my mind; who the hell am I trying to kid? 

 

30\. Dead Reckoning

It’s no good, we’re going to have to watch ourselves. Cowley’s going to notice and we’ll both be out of a job. I know it’s not just Bodie, it’s me too. But you can hardly blame me. Every time we’re together it just feels right to stand as close as possible, to help each other through the day with a secret look, word or smile. But Cowley’s no fool. He’s been conveniently distracted with all the brainwork he’s had to put in over the Stefan Batak business, but he’s not blind. 

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not getting carried away or anything like that. I know what me and Bodie get up to between the sheets isn’t permanent any more than it’s a replacement for sex with girls, but it’s still a bloody good way to unwind. 

But it comes to something when neither of us is the least bit interested in chatting up a pretty, talented young blond and instead are both desperate to get back to HQ so we can dump her as fast as possible. 

We’d both taken our share of it today; me with a bruised rib, Bodie with a lump the size of an egg on the back of his head. We’ve time to do something for ourselves now, for a change. And that something involves a gentle shared shower and a sensual hour in bed before drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms. 

After all, this isn’t anything permanent or serious. It’s not love or anything like that. 

And as I took his cock in my mouth and felt his hands tighten on my hair only one thought crossed my mind; who the hell am I trying to kid? 

 

31\. Mixed Doubles

That night the dreams started. 

One minute he saw Bodie standing in the conference room, smiling, his blue eyes twinkling as he recognised someone he thought was a friend. The next he was being flung backwards against the heavy oak table, his chest blown apart by a dum-dum bullet. And there was nothing Doyle could do to stop it. His gun, so meticulously cleaned and prepared the night before, jammed on him; leaving them both exposed to the assassin’s attack. 

In Doyle’s dream the blood on Bodie’s chest blossomed and flowered, staining from red to pink and turning into a climbing Albertine rose which crawled across an arbour in staccato time lapse snaps. Slowly, the beautiful garden the rose inhabited transformed into a vast cemetery with huge monuments and obelisks, a ghost town stretching as far as the eye could see. As the mist descended Doyle took shelter in a stone family vault, pausing in the dim interior as he tried to read the inscription. Then it seemed as if his power to move had been taken away from him. He could see shrouded people carrying Bodie’s body into the tomb. Before he could say or do anything they vanished and immediately the doorway was bricked up behind them. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even find the remains of his best friend in the inky darkness. And no matter how loud he screamed, nobody heard. 

Disconcerted to find that his own cries had woken him he sat up in bed and reached immediately for the phone, dialling Bodie’s number on autopilot. 

Every ring he was forced to endure tore his nerves to shreds. 

“Bodie.”

“At last!”

“Ray? You alright?”

“Eh? Oh, yeah.”

“What the...?” Bodie’s voice became muffled as the receiver was moved and replaced. “It’s 3am, Doyle.” 

“Sorry.”

“So what’s up?”

Doyle paused, completely unsure of how to explain that he just wanted to check that Bodie was still alive and not buried under the soil of Kensal Green. 

“Ray?”

“Had a dream,” Doyle confessed, eventually. 

Again Bodie’s voice became muffled as he made himself comfortable at the other end of the line. “Oh,” he said. “Bad one?”

“Yeah,” breathed Doyle into the receiver, as he lay back down and pulled the covers up over his shoulders. “Parsali. We didn’t win.”

“Nobody won today, sunshine,” said Bodie. “Trust me on that.”

“Those two blokes certainly didn’t win, did they? Bodie, they were just like us.”

“Not just like.”

“Yes, they were. Just doing their jobs.”

“For the wrong side.”

“Really? You really believe that?”

“You’ve got to, haven’t you?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Doyle sighed. “Wish...”

“Wish what? 

“Nothing,” said Doyle, suddenly embarrassed. 

“Come on, tell me,” said Bodie. “You wish what?”

“Wish we were still on training.”

“What, with that sadistic bastard, Macklin? No thanks very much!”

“Not that,” said Doyle, as much exasperated with himself as his partner. “It’s just... we were together then, weren’t we.”

There was a brief silence before the penny finally dropped. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“No, Bodie, you don’t have to...”

“Get the kettle on.” 

And the phone went dead. 

Doyle replaced the receiver and rubbed his eyes. For a moment he wasn’t entirely sure which images in his head were dreams and which were reality. But he still left the warmth of his bed to put the kettle on. 

Bodie would need a cuppa whether it was in this world or the next. 

 

32\. Need To Know  
Exhausted, dazed and nauseous, Bodie collapsed into the passenger seat of the Granada. His headache roared into life in time with the engine as Cowley dipped the throttle. He was aware of the sound of the rear door closing behind him then Cowley drove away from the scene, leaving the Chinese decoy lying in the road – the sacrificial lamb abandoned for the police to discover. 

Bodie leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, trying to blot out the physical symptoms and assess what had happened. Cowley couldn’t have set them up, could he? With some effort he turned to look back at Doyle who was slumped in the rear seat, his complexion as white as the roof lining, eyes closed. He didn’t look conscious. 

“Ray?” Bodie croaked. 

There was no response. Cowley took his eyes off the road for the moment and glanced in his rear view mirror. 

“Doyle?” snapped Cowley, loud enough to get a reaction under any other circumstances.

Still nothing.

Bodie gave Cowley an angry look. “Pull over,” he ordered, relieved when his boss reacted instantly. 

As soon as the car stopped Bodie hauled himself out, leaving his door wide open as he made his way to the back, holding on to the roof of the car for balance. He pulled open the rear door and perched on the running board while reaching for his partner, vaguely aware of Cowley in the front seat fumbling with the oxygen canister. 

“Ray, you with me?” asked Bodie, taking hold of his partner’s shoulders and shaking him slightly. Doyle’s head slumped forward onto his chest.

With some urgency Cowley flung open the other rear door and manhandled Doyle until he was lying flat on the seat. Placing the mask over the unconscious man’s face he turned the screw, increasing the flow of oxygen. 

Cowley didn’t doubt himself very often in life, but at that very moment he was inwardly panicking. He had taken a huge risk in assuming that the Russians would use stun gas rather than a lethal alternative. After all, they had wanted to take Drake alive, hadn’t they? It had all gone so well. Bodie and Doyle were at the peak of physical fitness, they should recover from this with no ill effects. But was there a chance he had miscalculated? 

It was a matter of seconds before Doyle reacted to the oxygen but to Bodie it felt like hours. His own condition no longer important to him, he watched as Cowley worked on his partner. 

“Come on, Ray,” he muttered. Pushing Doyle’s feet towards the back of the seat, Bodie moved so he was perched on the seat with him, not wanting to crowd him but at the same time needing to see he was okay. 

Explosive coughing wracked Doyle’s body and, just as he done on the road moments earlier, he tried to push the oxygen mask away.

“Oh, no you don’t,” said Cowley. “You need this, laddie.”

Bodie reached forward to help, holding the mask in place. “Ray, stop fighting it. Just breathe deep.”

Doyle’s eyes opened, panic flashing across his face. Again he swiped at the mask and he managed to gasp, “Gonna be sick.”

Cowley moved fast, grasping Doyle under his arms and pulling him out of the car onto the grass verge next to the car. He rolled the choking man over, just as Bodie arrived to kneel at his partner’s side. Bodie leaned forward and rubbed Doyle’s back as he threw up all over the grass. 

“Don’t panic, Ray. Try to stay calm,” Bodie’s voice soothed. “It’s just a side effect, mate.”

“Aye, of course,” said Cowley, standing back for a moment to pull himself together. It was a standard side effect of the gas. He hadn’t done anything wrong - he could stop feeling so guilty. Of course Doyle would recover; he’d be fine in a few minutes. 

He looked at his watch. They needed to move on. “Can he move yet?”

Bodie scowled up at him. “Give him a minute, sir,” he said, trying to remain respectful. 

Cowley ignored the potential insubordination and went back to the car to re-start the engine. 

Doyle finally finished throwing up and collapsed back onto the grass, still coughing and wheezing. He gave himself a moment to recover, aware of the warm sun on his face and the slight breeze in the air. 

Bodie brushed the curls aside to feel his forehead, frowning at the heat he found there. “Feel better?” he asked, concerned.

“Yeah.” Doyle closed his eyes again. “Why me, not you?”

“Ah, bigger lungs,” said Bodie, breathing in and sticking his chest out to demonstrate. “I probably took more of the oxygen down than you.” 

“Right.” Doyle propped himself up on his elbows. “G’us a hand up,” he said, not sure he could move successfully but all too aware of the impatient CI5 controller sat waiting in the Granada. 

Bodie got to his feet and pulled Doyle up, draping a casual arm around his waist as he guided him back to the car. He deposited him in the back with a “Here you go, old son, make yourself comfy,” then he slammed the door shut and resumed his seat in the front. 

“All okay?” asked Cowley, manoeuvring the car back out onto the road. He knew he needed to get further away from the scene of the kidnap before reporting into Pymar. Putting his foot down he looked across at Bodie, taking in the expression on his face. Ah yes, there were going to be questions soon and lots of them. 

Bodie ignored the question, preferring instead to look back at his partner. 

“All okay, Ray?” 

Doyle nodded. “Yeah, thanks,” he said, sniffing slightly. 

“Tell me if you need anything.”

“I will. Yeah. Thanks.” Though there never was any need. Bodie always seemed to know what Doyle needed before he did himself. 

 

33\. The Purging of CI5

“It’s been a bloody long day,” commented Bodie, as Doyle pulled the Escort into the kerb outside his flat for the third time in twelve hours. “Coming in for one?”

“Why not?” replied Doyle, without a moment’s thought as to what ‘one’ might mean. 

They got out and slammed the car doors shut in sync. “At least my flat’s got the all clear now,” said Bodie, as they walked up the steps. “No more UXBs.”

On entering the flat Doyle walked over to the stereo to put some music on while Bodie grabbed a couple of glasses, pouring a generous whiskey measure into each. As an afterthought Bodie turned up the thermostat, realising that the evening chill had gotten into him through his, for him, unusually thin cotton shirt. 

Doyle looked up from where he was crouched sorting through the stack of LPs. He looked at his partner closely, noticing the shiver. “Got close a few times today,” he commented, as he took the offered drink. 

“Yeah.”

“Lost three of the lads.” He stood up and raised his glass. 

Bodie took his cue immediately. “To Matheson, King and Williams,” he said, knocking his glass against Doyle’s before swallowing back the contents. “They were the best of times, they were the worst of times.”

“Matheson, King and Williams,” echoed Doyle, tipping the whiskey down in one. He held his glass out for a refill. “And if it hadn’t been for that piece of wire...”

Bodie poured more whiskey. “If? Don’t say ‘If’, Ray.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t change the past with ifs and buts. We survived. We’re both still here. Leave it.”

Doyle put his glass on the table beside him and moved into Bodie’s space. “Worth celebrating, don’t you think?”

“I try not to.”

“What? Celebrate?”

“No,” said Bodie, raising his eyes to the sky. “Think. Don’t think about it. Just do it.”

“Eat, drink and be merry, eh? For tomorrow we...”

“...Ask Cowley for a rise.”

Doyle smiled a chipped tooth grin at the joke and moved even closer. “So we take what we want? Any way we can?”

“Anytime, anyplace, anywhere,” agreed Bodie, pulling Doyle into a loose hug. 

“Whiskey, not Martini.”

“Alive, not dead.”

“Yeah. Some day that was,” said Doyle, muttering the words against Bodie’s neck. “Started with an explosion...”

“And ended with fireworks?”

“Yeah.” With some effort Doyle pulled himself away from Bodie and walked to the door that led to the bedroom, stopping to lean seductively against the doorframe. “Want to light the blue touch paper?” 

Bodie licked his lips. 

What a day, indeed.  
 

34\. Fugitive

I can’t tell you exactly when it changed, when it stopped being quick and easy sex and starting turning into something more serious. But slowly, things have altered. It’s become more heated, passionate, emotional, almost terrifying at times. Although, I admit, not quite as terrifying as watching Bodie run across that field with a bomb strapped to his chest. What was the stupid bastard trying to do? Commit suicide in order to save me? Christ. In the end I had to use a rugby tackle I hadn’t attempted since Senior School, knowing that any minute we could both be blown to smithereens. 

My God, the look of him as they tipped him out of the back of that van, beaten up, his face swollen, hands tied behind his back. And I was supposed to just stand there and do nothing, say nothing. Well as soon as the shooting started I had only one aim; to free Bodie. The rest of CI5 could take care of the terrorists – I was off, running as fast as I could across the airfield with no thought of anything except getting to my partner before Dreisinger could find the remote amongst the smoke and chaos. 

From the moment we realised Bodie had been taken I kept thinking that if I’d done a better job at my dying swan impersonation maybe his cover wouldn’t have been blown. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t realised I had a hidden audience. We should have thought of that, brought in an ambulance, stretcher – the whole works. We did it for Cowley, didn’t we, when we set the trap for Catrell? So why not me today? Then Bodie might not have been made and wouldn’t have been half killed. I know what he’ll say if I try to talk about it, that I can’t change the past and I shouldn’t blame myself. But I do. And when I think about that poor bastard they pushed out of the hotel window, it makes me sick to my stomach. Well, that could’ve been Bodie, you see, except they had a freefall from a plane planned for him, not a push through a window. 

So no, there was no way I was going to leave him strapped to that bomb for any more time than I had to. In fact, I’d have gladly swapped places with him if I could. 

The maniac. 

My maniac. 

 

35\. The Acorn Syndrome

It had been a slow start to the day. Such a sunny, sticky day, somehow it deserved better than for a person to be sat around feeling lonely. Having bathed, dressed, breakfasted, undressed, showered, then dressed again, there was nothing left for her to do but wait. 

The days appointments had been booked the previous week as usual but when the doorbell rang it wasn’t at the appointed time. A surprise then? And what a surprise. He was perhaps a little rougher around the edges than she had usually come to expect, although the wellington boots were a nice touch. Shirt open several buttons at the neck, gold chain, a riot of brown curls, green – or were they blue – eyes. Skin tight trousers, a scattering of chest hair on show and a cute smile that showed he knew exactly what he was being offered. A beer? That usually does the trick. But not today it seems. It appears he genuinely was just looking for directions. Ah well, you can’t win ‘em all. 

She sipped her coffee thoughtfully and checked her watch. Twenty minutes till the gardener arrived then in a couple of hours the window cleaner. 

Such a shame he hadn’t stayed.  
 

36\. Slush Fund

There were no two ways about it – it was obvious to Bodie that Van Neikerk had nothing to keep Doyle alive for and every reason to kill him. Bodie was furious, apoplectic with rage while at the same time being scared out of his wits. He’d tried the phone, twice, rang it almost off the hook in trying. But he’d missed him. And by now, oh Christ, by now anything could have happened. He knew Cowley was angry too – it was the first time in his life his boss had lost his temper and grabbed him by the lapels – but his feelings were nothing compared to Bodie’s. 

Impatient, disgusted with the whole business and inwardly terrified, Bodie slammed the phone down and ran for his car with one thought in his mind - Van Neikerk was going to kill Doyle and Bodie was going to be too late to stop him. 

His heart thudding in his chest, adrenalin flooding his system, Bodie stepped into the hotel suite knowing without doubt that if Doyle was still there, he was already dead. His training didn’t desert him as he tried to keep his cool, searching the flat methodically until finally there was only one place left to look – the bathroom.

The feeling of dread left him cold as he stepped into the small room only to find a body in the bath, the dark wet curls hidden beneath a white towel. A hesitant, resigned hand reached to remove the sodden fabric. Then he closed his eyes in sheer relief as he revealed the body of a woman. A flicker of hope reignited, he covered the ashen face with the towel once more, not once feeling guilty for the lack of remorse at her death. 

He had to find Doyle. His life, his very existence, depended on nothing more. Damn Cowley, damn Pete Van Neikerk and damn Martin Hope and his bloody book. 

He was going to find Doyle if it was the last thing he ever did. 

 

37\. Weekend In The Country

“Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“It’s late.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“What’s up?”

“Look, I was thinking, maybe it’s time for a break. You know?”

“What kind of break?”

“You know. From...you know.”

“Oh. You know.”

“Yeah.”

“I see.”

“Don’t sound like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’ve just stolen your last jaffa cake.”

“Leave it out, will you?”

“It’s just... I’ve thought of a compromise.”

“I see. What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know if you’ll go for it.”

“You’ll never know unless you ask.”

“Well, Judy’s invited me to her Mother’s house in the country for the weekend. And she’s got this gorgeous mate, Liz. You’ll love her.”

“Yeah?”

“Never wears a bra.”

“Oh.”

“So what do you think?”

“What, the four of us go?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s hardly taking a break, is it; going away for the weekend together.” 

“With girls.”

“Oh, of course. With girls.”

“So?”

“It’s what you really want? Girls?”

“Oh, I dunno, mate. Just fancied a bit of... normality. You know?”

“Yeah. I know.”

“It’s not that I don’t...”

“Leave it. I get it. I’ll go.”

“I’ll call Judy tomorrow.”

“Doyle?”

“Yeah?”

“That ‘normality’ you fancy. It is okay, you know? I mean, it’s okay with me.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Well, as long as you know.”

“Yeah.”

“Night.”

“G’night.”

 

38\. Takeaway

It’s okay, really. I understand. I’d have done the same if I’d been in his shoes. Nice cosy flat with a clever, pretty girl on tap. And he’s undercover – he has to make it convincing. He’s so bloody good at going undercover. Not that I’m exactly a slouch myself; I think I’ve been playing the hard done by down and out rather realistically. At least nobody in the squat seems to suspect me. But every night as I doss down on the cold wonky floorboards, I wonder what he’s getting up to. I wish I wouldn’t. Don’t want to lie there thinking of him cuddled up in a warm bed with his little China doll, knowing all the time that he’s still desperately searching for yet more ‘normality’. I’ve really got to watch myself. If I push him any harder I’ll end up forcing him away for good and I don’t want that. I just don’t think he can handle this, handle me – us. 

It’s easier for me, you see. I know what I want and it’s Ray Doyle, complete with all his flaws. And I’ll wait as long as it takes to get him. I don’t care about the girls, Cowley or CI5. There’ll always be another job. But there’ll never be another Doyle. 

I can wait for him to sort himself out, help him too, if he’ll let me. But sometimes when we’re apart, like when I’m trying to get to sleep in this drafty old squat, I miss him so bloody much. And it’s not just about me doing the right thing, being patient and waiting for him until he’s ready. It’s not that one sided and I’m no martyr. I need him too. Need his arms around me, need to feel wanted, loved. And I can’t tell him, can’t tell anyone. Or am I just getting maudlin and lonely? Pull yourself together, Bodie, for your own sake if nothing else. 

And just try to get some sleep...

 

39\. Involvement

This is it - my chance to be normal. A proper chance at wife and kids. I know I want this, need this. Anne is so special: pretty, intelligent, independent, loving. What more could I ask for? We make such a great couple and I just know it’s going to work. Maybe we could even make a fresh start in New York away from everything. Away from Bodie... 

Oh, Christ, who am I kidding? Is that what I have to do, to get him out of my system? Marry a girl and move to the other side of the world? Is he really inside my head that much? I haven’t said no to a woman since that posh horsey bird back in the summer. I didn’t think it was possible to sleep with this many women in such a short space of time. And now I want to marry one? I must be mad. Or in love, or something. In love with Bodie? Shit. What am I thinking?

I just can’t see a world where me and Bodie could stay together as, you know, a couple. I realise things are better in the world now than they’ve ever been – this is 1980, after all. But I’m no Larry Grayson and I can’t see how we could live together and be accepted. Or is it that I’m just not brave enough to try? What exactly am I afraid of? And how long will Bodie be prepared to wait, while I try to work it out? 

So maybe Anne is the answer after all. The cowards way out, maybe, but an answer none the less. I wonder what she’d say if I proposed? 

I wonder what Bodie would say.

 

40\. The Gun

Bodie’s lovely; tall, dark and handsome, generous with his wallet, passionate in the bedroom. We seemed to click, same sense of humour and all that. And we’re both married to our jobs which means we understand each other. I’m not too coy to admit it, it did cross my mind when I first met him if he might be ‘The One’. Then he virtually moved in, started wearing my bathrobe, cooking in my kitchen, sleeping in my bed. I read the signs and hoped for the best. 

And then I met his partner, Ray. 

It wasn’t the best morning to create a good impression, me hardly awake yet and looking like I’d been pulled through a hedge backwards. And they both looked like death warmed up too. They’d just finished a night shift and I felt guilty enough calling for their help, but I had no-one else to turn to. 

I looked up at Bodie, dark and brooding, his work face firmly fixed and with Ray standing close beside him. And I just knew.

One look, that’s all it took. I found myself wondering if I had been the first girlfriend to notice, to wonder about the two of them. I’m sure Bodie said Ray was engaged once. So what happened there? Did she work it out for herself too? I’m a big girl and I’m not going to cry over it. I just wish they’d be honest with each other before it’s too late. I can pick myself up and start all over again, but them? Well, with them it’s just so... intense. 

I wish them luck, really I do, but I secretly wonder which one of them is going to crack up first. 

I think I’d bet on Bodie. 

 

41\. Wild Justice

As they watched Cowley returning to supervise the arrests, Doyle looked across at his partner. “Come back and get the bike with me?”

Bodie’s brow furrowed. “Why, where is it?”

“Back in the clearing.”

Still appearing somewhat confused, Bodie nodded nether the less and both men started to walk past the pub and down the lane that led into the woods. 

“So,” began Doyle, as they picked their way through the mud and fallen leaves. “This is all about your old mate?”

“Think you know it all, don’t you, Doyle,” muttered Bodie.

“No, but I wish I did. Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”

“It was nothing to do with you.”

“Oh. Nice. Thanks very much, partner.”

“This all happened before I met you.”

“But I’m here now, Bodie. I can help now.”

Bodie went quiet as they continued their walk, speeding up as he spied the yellow of the deserted scrambler in the distance. As he approached the clearing he paused and looked around, seemingly absorbed by the sunlight glinting through the trees. “I hit you,” he said, as if only just remembering.

Doyle rubbed his ribs gingerly. “Yeah.” He bent down to grab the handlebars, righting the bike and checking it over for damage. 

Bodie thrust his hands into the pockets of leather jacket and pouted. “I’m sorry.” 

Doyle sighed. He didn’t hear those words very often and they deserved a reward. “No, I’m sorry,” he replied. “If I’d been around more, you might have trusted me.”

Bodie went quiet again, as if trying to judge the integrity of his words. “We should get back,” he said, finally. “Sally will be waiting for you.”

Doyle half turned away from him and manoeuvred the bike to point it back the way they’d come. “Think it might be time for a new bike,” he commented, looking down at it. 

“Getting bored with it?” asked Bodie, as he came to stand close behind him. 

“It’s too posh for me, too boring.” Keeping his back to Bodie, Doyle winced at his own words. The bike was anything but posh and boring, but he needed to get his message across somehow.

“But does it deserve to get dumped?” asked Bodie, his voice even closer now. “Just because your tastes have changed?”

“But if I don’t do something soon I’ll grow to hate it anyway. And never... ride it again.”

“Well at least I know what to buy for your birthday.” Bodie’s voice sounded, at long last, like his old self again.

Doyle turned around, balancing the bike against his leg as he did so. “What?”

“Thames Valley Trader.”

Luckily, the mud on their faces didn’t prevent them from kissing.  
 

42\. Blackout

Any outside observer might have thought that George Cowley had engineered this latest case simply in order to split up the 3.7 and 4.5 teaming – it had all the hallmarks, beginning as it did with a pretty girl dressed in only her underwear. But with Dr Ross almost constantly nagging in his ear about the dangers of any partnership getting too close, it was the comments about them becoming a potential security risk that eventually pushed him to a decision. So when arranging for them to drive around the countryside with a pretty girl failed to get the results he was hoping for, he had gone for a more direct approach. Partnering Doyle with Stuart and Bodie with Murphy had given Cowley the breathing space he required, plus it provided Dr Ross with the data she had been demanding in order to continue her analysis. 

He chose not to go to the pub with them afterwards, but found himself hoping that Murphy and Stuart would.

******

Nursing his pint as he leant against the bar, Murphy watched the interaction between the two partners with interest. Tall, dark and devilishly handsome, this had been his first chance to work directly with CI5’s top team and what he saw quite frankly amazed him. Privately gay in a largely homophobic world, he knew he sometimes picked up on things that others overlooked. And what he saw now screamed messages to his brain in six foot high letters. He saw how Bodie looked a little lost whenever Doyle got caught in conversation with Stuart. How Gerda wasn’t getting anywhere with her attempts at trying to look after the injured hero. How Doyle kept throwing small glances across at his partner, checking up on him at regular intervals. And how, whenever he did so, Bodie smiled up at him. It made Murphy frown a little as he thought it through. There’s no way Cowley would put up with a situation such as Murphy was now imagining – two of his best operatives...what? Sleeping with each other? In love? No way.

But why had Cowley teamed him with Bodie on this case? Murphy ran over the details in his head. They’d made mistakes, of that there was no doubt. Why hadn’t they searched Parker’s Bank first? It was the obvious place to start. Instead it was a slightly random clue of a man with a bowler hat and an umbrella that put them on the right track. And then Bodie had ordered Murphy to wait outside while he went in. Why? If Doyle had been there, he’d have been right behind him. Didn’t Bodie trust Murphy to cover him like Doyle would? Murphy frowned again and stared into the remains of his pint, depressed. He wanted, needed, Bodie’s respect. He felt guilty for Bodie’s injury, knowing if he’d been there to back him up it might not have happened. 

“Top up?”

Surprised, he looked up straight into Doyle’s eyes as he leaned next to him at the bar. 

“Erm, yeah. Thanks, Ray.”

Doyle ordered the drinks then turned towards Murphy, putting him under an intense scrutiny. “So, where were you?” he asked, quietly. 

Murphy shuddered. It was as if he’d been reading his mind. “He told me to wait outside,” he said, with a shrug. 

“And you listened?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“No.” Doyle handed over notes to the barmaid and turned back to Murphy again. “No, I wouldn’t. Bodie’s not bloody Superman, you know. He needed backup.”

“I know that,” said Murphy, trying not to squirm. “He wouldn’t let me. I don’t know why.”

“No?” asked Doyle. He leaned forward again, totally ignoring Murphy’s height advantage as he moved into his personal space. “Well if he ever gets hurt again because of you, you’ll have me to deal with. Right?”

Murphy swallowed nervously. “Are you threatening me?” he asked, already knowing the answer but refusing to be bullied. 

In response Doyle pulled away and laughed, patting Murphy on the back and handing him his fresh pint. 

“Of course not,” he said. “What are you talking about? Come on, come and join us. You look like a spare prick in a brothel, stood over here by yourself.”

Balancing three drinks in between his fingers Doyle made his way back over to the table, with Murphy watching every move he made.

6.2 knew without a shadow of a doubt that his card had just been marked.  
 

43\. It’s Only A Beautiful Picture

Another day, another dollar, another case and, once again, Bodie and Doyle found themselves separated. This time, forewarned as they were, they were at least able to engineer to meet up while undercover. As Doyle gunned the Suzuki ahead of Bodie’s Capri he patted his inside pocket, smiling at the feel of the printed directions that led him to Bodie’s Bed and Breakfast hideaway. 

As he wound the powerful motorbike along the country lanes, he mulled over the problem in his head. George Cowley seemed determined, yet again, that they should work apart from each other. But why was he failing to understand that his top team are just that because they are a team – in every respect. They finish each other’s sentences, knew what the other was thinking with just a look, what the other was going to do in every situation without having to plot and plan in advance. Through many years of trust they had created a natural, smooth, unforced and beautiful partnership, unrivalled in the rest of CI5 and beyond. And he was trying to split them up? Where was the logic in that? It was probably Ross and her bloody recommendations that he was listening to again, but Doyle really had hoped that Cowley was his own man and could make decisions without her. 

So, what was it? Had Cowley started to guess how close they had really become? 

As he slowed down on the approach road to the town, sudden doubts flooded his mind – not for the first time. Where were they going with this relationship and did Doyle even want it? Because if the outside world, even their boss, wasn’t going to accept them, then Doyle wasn’t at all sure he would be able to handle the fallout. 

Trouble was, he had no will power when it came to Bodie. He smiled to himself as he pictured the days ahead. About to go undercover in a small town where nobody knew them, both placed in temporary accommodation which meant they could spend every single night together if they wanted. Maybe even bring a cream tea back to bed with them, jam and all. 

How was he supposed to resist that? 

 

44\. Blood Sports

I’m a busy man. There’s no-one could argue with that. I’m not sure there’s a minute of the day when I’m not working and I find it impossible to switch off. So I have put a lot of thought into the problems that Dr Ross keeps insisting are due to materialise in relation to 3.7 and 4.5’s partnership. Getting too close, she says. Security risk, possible homosexual relationship, she says. Should that be my business? Surely they’re entitled to a personal life? But I demand one hundred percent from my operatives and if there is any chance, any chance at all, that they might start to put one another before me, before my orders... well, then it has to stop. 

The last couple of ops have given me ideal opportunity to try out a few things, separate them, see how they coped. I’ll admit that paring Bodie with Murphy wasn’t entirely successful. They missed Doyle’s insight and Bodie didn’t trust 6.2 enough. And although Doyle and Stuart worked well enough together, Stuart is a loner and always will be. 

But this Cabreros affair, well that was an easier option. With listening devices all over the girls flat, it was easy enough to spot Doyle’s potential involvement with her. And from there on it was simply a matter of careful timing to make sure that Bodie caught them ‘in flagrante delicto’. 

I felt I played the innocent remarkably well, chatting to the girl about arrangements and the return of our equipment while at the same time monitoring 3.7’s response. And his face was a picture when he realised his partner was already there with his feet well under the table, so to speak. 

And now as Bodie drives the two of us to the pub, I think over what has just happened. A drink together afterwards, aye. But I’ll not put the lad on the spot. I feel happy enough with what I’ve seen. 

3.7 and 4.5 in love with each other? Absolutely ridiculous. 

 

45\. Hijack

So, I got another chance. Just providing back up, naturally, but still, it’s another chance. Not that the dream team even noticed me. They just walked past as if I didn’t exist. But afterwards, while we were waiting for the body in the bath to be removed, I managed to catch Bodie’s eye. A quick check to see where Doyle was then he came over to the car.

“Murphy,” he nodded in greeting.

“How are you,” I replied.

“Yeah. Okay.” A slightly awkward silence. Doyle had just appeared in the doorway and, although Bodie had his back to him, I got the very strong impression that he was aware he was being watched. “How you getting on with the new Suzuki?” he asks, presumably because this is a safe subject.

“Yeah, I got those new Dunstall silencers in the end. Makes a world of a difference.”

“It’s a fast bike,” Bodie acknowledged. 

“Yeah,” I agreed, wondering what to say next. 

And that was all we had. As if by magic, 4.5 appeared at his side. “Murphy,” he said, friendly but with a hint of warning. 

“Doyle,” I replied, politely. 

My God, this was like High Noon. The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. With a smile, I wondered which of us was which. 

“Murph’s still got his bike,” said Bodie to Doyle, obviously feeling the need to explain his reason for talking to me. 

“Oh,” said Doyle, feigning interest. “Nice. Cowley wants us.” Then, with a tug on his arm, Bodie was turning away from me.

“Bodie,” I called, making him stop and turn back. “Meet for a drink, sometime? Talk bikes.”

He nodded, put up a hand in a half wave, and walked away. 

What on earth was I doing?

Talk about playing with fire.  

46\. You’ll Be Alright

CI5 night ops were the worst. Night shifts weren’t so bad in the force because they were organised - late shift, early turn, nights. You knew where you stood. But in CI5 you could have been working hard all day and then be expected to work the night too, and it was tough. They were all feeling it. Bodie, Doyle, Rod, Murphy, Liz, all on high alert and waiting for the balloon to go up. And all, without exception, knackered. 

Bodie felt he’d done more than his fair share of nights just lately, creeping around in the undergrowth at silly o’clock, waiting for something to happen. Well tonight, he got more than he was bargaining for. Breathing heavily after chasing Weaver, his trousers wet from his fall in the river, Bodie leaned back against the wall of the house to catch his breath. Only to have it taken away again as Murphy pushed him back against the brickwork with a kiss as sweet as moonlight. 

“Well...” said Bodie, breaking the kiss but not moving away. 

“Yeah,” said Murphy, a shy smile on his face. 

“We’re meant to be working, Murph,” said Bodie, unsure of where this was going. 

“I am working, but it’s all over now.” 

“And what about Jack Stone?”

Murphy had the good grace to look a little ashamed. “Ah. Lost him.”

“Great. Cowley’s gonna love you.”

“Heard you shouting. Heard shooting. I knew Doyle wasn’t with you.”

Bodie looked him over and saw only honest concern in his eyes. “I see. So you took your eye off the prize.”

“Not the way I see it, no.” Murphy took a step back, releasing Bodie from the wall and noticing the state of him. “You’re soaking wet.”

“Well if you think you’re going to get me out of these wet things then ravish me, you picked the wrong place and the wrong time,” said Bodie, with a wry smile. 

“But not the wrong man?” asked Murphy, smiling back at him. 

“Maybe, Murph. Maybe.” Bodie threw his arm across Murphy’s shoulders and started to walk back to the road. 

Together they came out into the glare of the streetlights to see Doyle waiting by an ambulance, his expression totally unreadable. 

And Murphy lost his smile.  
   


47\. Kickback

After depositing his partner on the sofa, Doyle busied himself in the kitchen. He made two coffees and poured a large slug of brandy in Bodie’s, then carried them into the lounge. Bodie was lying flat out, one arm slung across his eyes. 

“Here,” said Doyle, placing the cups on the table. 

Bodie let his arm drop and twisted onto one side so he could get to the cup, wincing as he reached for it. 

“You hurting?” asked Doyle. 

“A bit.” Bodie slurped his drink. 

“Want me to ring the hospital, see if there’s any news?”

“No.” Bodie put his cup down and slumped backwards again. “I’ll find out tomorrow.”

“So, this mate of yours...”

“Not now, Doyle.”

“Listen, Bodie,” said Doyle, as he knelt on the floor in front of his partner. “I was listening to your call to Cowley, when Keller hit you and dumped you. I heard your voice. No one treats you the way he did and gets away with it, not even a mate.”

“It doesn’t matter, Doyle.” Bodie’s voice sounded exhausted.

“It does matter. It matters to me.”

Bodie looked up at him. “Ray...”

“Why did you go back for him, Bodie? After what he did?”

“Because I thought I loved him once, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Doyle ignored the question and concentrated on the important part. “Only thought you did?”

“How could I love someone who’s that much of a bastard? Give me some credit, Ray.”

Doyle sat on the edge of the sofa, pushing Bodie backwards and putting his hands either side of him. He leaned down towards him, being careful not to make contact with his bruises. “No more, Bodie,” he whispered. “No more Keller, no more Murphy.”

“That reminds me,” said Bodie, his eyes narrowing. “I heard you shot Murph.”

Doyle winced. News travelled fast, it seemed. “Only a little bit. And I didn’t hurt him. Promise.”

“Glad to hear it. And you want to make this exclusive?”

“Just you and me. Nobody else.”

“Nobody?” said Bodie. “No Deborahs, no Judys? No Annes?”

“Nobody else, Bodie. You have my word.”

“Jealousy isn’t a very attractive trait, Doyle.”

“I’m not jealous. Possessive, yes, but not jealous. From now on, you’re mine. And I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

Bodie looked at him, really looked at him. “What brought this on?”

“I think it’s just time,” said Doyle, trying to show how much he meant the words, his expression serious, his eyes intent. “Don’t you? I know what I want now. But tell me it’s not what you want and I’ll back off for good.”

“If I said it, you’d know it wouldn’t be true, Ray, but...”

“I won’t let you down, Bodie. Trust me.”

And finally, at last, Bodie took the leap towards total trust. 

He just hoped he wasn’t going to have cause to regret it.  
 

48\. Discovered in a Graveyard

The Lin Foh affair had been a disaster all around. So many deaths. The bomber they were chasing had apparently decided that death was a better choice than dishonour. Colonel Lin Foh, shot and killed when the plan to trap his potential assassin went disastrously wrong. His CI5 bodyguard shot by the same gun and dying later in hospital. And finally the killer with a cause, Mayli, dying in the ambulance with Bodie’s hand still clutched in hers. 

And Doyle? 

Nearly. So very nearly.

Bodie had got there just in time, pausing for a fraction of a second in the doorway then surging into action. Trying to stop the bleeding, torn between the urge to reassure his partner and the need to call for assistance. But after the call had been made he’d gone back to wait for the ambulance, sitting on the floor, holding the dressings in place to try to stem the flow of blood, reassuring Doyle as much as he could even though he already seemed beyond his reach. 

The ambulance was quick and the paramedics efficient. They had Doyle on the stretcher and on the way to hospital faster than you could ever think possible. And then, having to release an emotion and deciding rage was better than love, Bodie lost his temper. Desperate to find the person who had done this to Doyle. To his Ray. And there was a tiny flicker of a smile, a look that spoke volumes and then, agonisingly, there was nothing. 

Bodie truly thought he had lost him. 

At the hospital he waited, pacing, until Cowley had ordered him away.

He hadn’t wanted to leave. Why was he making him leave?

Finding himself in the one place he wanted to avoid, Doyle’s flat, Bodie tried and failed to put on a brave face. Wandering aimlessly, not wanting to see the blood on the floor in the lounge, he took refuge in the bedroom. 

And there was Cowley reading Ray’s poem. 

He thought the words but didn’t dare say them out loud. ‘Don’t tell me not to be cynical about love. I’m already love’s greatest cynic.’ 

Bodie didn’t know it was possible to feel so desolate. 

He went back to the hospital and watched as much of the operation as he could. Watched the surgeons fight for Doyle’s life as they dug around for bullets, dropping them with a loud clink into the metal tray. 

Watched them trying to save his life. 

Watching his partners back. 

And afterwards? 

With Doyle finally conscious, if struggling to remain so, Bodie managed just two sentences before disappearing. 

"You nearly died. I trusted you and you nearly died."

And then he walked. 

There was so much in his head. It was almost too much to bear. 

There’s only so much one person can take. 

That’s what was going through Bodie’s head as he walked and he meant it as much for Doyle as himself. 

So he kept on walking.

*******

London seemed small to Bodie. Everywhere he walked, there was a memory. 

Using a parking meter as a leaning post, he stared across the road at the flat Doyle had used around the time he had met Ann Holly. Doyle had been happy there. Happy, but heart breakingly sad, too. When she dumped him, Bodie had been there. The evergreen hedge at the front was overgrown now, almost obscuring the whole of the downstairs from view. He squinted up at the floodlights of Queens Park Rangers football ground and shivered in the cold night air. 

He found himself standing in front of the small house Doyle had lived in when a bent copper had been out to kill him. He remembered swinging himself over the whitewashed wall that led to the small yard, where Doyle kept that little orange Honda. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the blurred image of a burnt out Jag. 

The church gave the impression of warmth from the orange glow of candle light pouring through the windows and partially open door. The warmth was an illusion, but he still chose to stand just outside as he looked across at his old flat. The one where he had lived when Doyle had saved his life, calming him with humour, all the time looking for the best way to defuse the bomb hidden in his telephone. He had never doubted Doyle, not for one second. He didn’t think Doyle ever doubted him. He knew he’d never get that back now. 

Slightly bewildered from the hours of constant walking, he felt dizzy to be suddenly standing still. Doyle’s current flat near Holland Park was in a wealthy area, close to their favourite pub. A serviced flat with a secure entry system and on call attendant, only a short bus ride from Kensington and Knightsbridge - Bodie had always wondered how CI5 could afford to keep it on. 

He stood on the pavement opposite Doyle’s block. Looking up, he counted eight stories to the flat. 

Doyle’s flat where he had nearly died. 

It was too much. Too much. 

He walked away, stumbled into the black railings and kept on walking. 

He supposed he should be taking in the sights of London. So many people loved the City; he did too, most of the time. But right now it wasn’t a tourist attraction. It was a bottomless pit, waiting for everything Bodie ever cared about to fall into it. He carried on walking, passing the shops, the parks, Harrods, Hyde Park Corner, the Wellington Arch, Piccadilly, Fortnum and Mason. As he reached Piccadilly Circus it seemed to be lunchtime – he didn’t know on which day. Bright, cold air and a white sky threatening to snow. And so many people coming at him from every direction. He crossed with the green man and stood in the centre, climbing the steps of Eros to gain height advantage. He moved slowly around, looking down every street, Regent Street, Shaftesbury Avenue, Piccadilly. 

He wanted to disappear. 

So many people, surely no-one would notice if he disappeared?

He was disconcerted to realise that he was being watched and then abruptly realised that he wasn’t. It’s just that he was standing by the Eros statue which meant that all the people looking at it were also looking at him. He walked down the steps quickly and moved his way through the crowds along Haymarket, not looking back. 

Ignoring the crowds at Trafalgar Square he found the river then strode along the Embankment, crossing at Waterloo. 

He tried not to look down. Didn’t want to see the cold, brown water, tempting him. 

He knew this part of London so well. You needed a Cabby’s knowledge to work in the City and he and Doyle had become expert at finding their way anywhere, via the shortest route possible. 

Doyle...

He kept on walking. 

******

“It was nice of you to come by personally,” said Doyle, his voice still a little weak and croaky. 

Cowley pulled up a visitor’s chair. “Well, I was passing,” he said. They both knew how busy he was and how hospital visits were usually only made in extreme circumstances. 

He still had his overcoat on so Doyle guessed he wouldn’t be staying. He decided to come straight to the point. “Is there any news?”

“No. Sorry, no.” 

“It’s been three days.”

“Aye, lad, I know. I’ve got half of London looking out for him.” Cowley looked tired. “As soon as I hear anything you’ll be the first to know.”

Doyle gazed towards the window, almost as if he could search London from there. “It’s been three days,” he repeated, quietly. 

“Have you no idea where he might have gone, or why he would want to disappear?”

Doyle turned back to Cowley and blushed slightly. No, he didn’t know where. But yes he knew why, or thought he did. But he could hardly tell Cowley of his suspicions. 

“No, sir,” he said, finally. “Maybe I should be out there...”

“You know that’s impossible, man. Let others do the job this time.”

Doyle sighed. “But you’ll call me if you hear anything?”

Cowley stood up. “Aye, I’ll call you.”

********

It had taken him some days and some nights to walk the City. Bodie wasn’t sure how many there had been of either. And now, uncaring and unaware of his exhaustion, he walked the Thames Path. He ignored everything around him. St Pauls Cathedral, Billingsgate, the docks and wharfs. Cranes moved over his head, he didn’t even register the shouts of warning. One foot after another, heavy, cold. He thought it might be dusk, early because of the time of year, but still dusk. The river was high. Again he ignored it, concentrating on the path ahead. But the river seemed determined to pull his gaze towards it. The surface wasn’t brown anymore, it was steel blue, choppy, dark. 

Tramps and homeless people gathered in the tunnel under the bridge, a brazier glowing with white heat. He stood near, wondering casually if he should try to get warm. Someone offered him a drink from a plastic bottle and he noticed the cardboard boxes being arranged into bedding. Should he rest? 

He kept on walking. 

********

“Murphy.” A rub removed sleep as he checked his watch. 4.30am. 

“Murphy, it’s Stuart.”

“Yeah, hi, what’s up?”

Stuart’s voice sounded distant, as if he wasn’t really concentrating. “I think I’ve just seen Bodie. Looks like him anyway. Do you want me to call it in, or do you want it?”

Murphy sat bolt upright. “I want it. Where?”

“Believe it or not, Tower Bridge.”

“Which side?”

“No, actually on the bridge.”

“How long ago?” Murphy was already up and pulling his jeans on, tucking the phone under his chin.

“Ten minutes or so.”

“Thanks Stuart, I owe you.” The phone was slammed back into its cradle and Murphy was out of the flat as fast as he could run. 

********

There were road-works on the bridge. Red lights flashed to warn the traffic. They made Bodie wince, trying to avoid their harsh brilliance. Lights that were as red as Doyle’s blood, so much blood. 

The voice, when it came, was quiet and controlled. Bodie wondered if, finally, he’d gone mad.

“It’s cold out here, mate,” the voice said. 

He parted his lips to reply, but his voice wouldn’t work. 

He stared out across the water at the illuminated Tower on the opposite bank. 

Then he felt a warm hand on his, reaching out to hold him as he clutched onto the railing. 

“Bodie? It’s me, Murphy. Look at me.”

Another hand, this time on his chin, forcing him to turn away from the water. 

“Bodie?”

His eyes turned to liquid, his voice to gravel. “Ray?”

“No,” said the voice, gentle and caring. “It’s Murphy. Come home, eh?” 

Bodie swallowed, hard. “I can’t, Murph. I... I need...”

“I know.” Kind eyes smiled at him. “Oh, I know. But I’m here. Let me help you. Please.”

The shudder went right through him, to his very soul. 

And he let Murphy help.  
 

49\. Foxhole on the Roof

With a groan and far more pain than he was expecting, Murphy managed to sit up in bed. He was almost going to ignore the constantly ringing doorbell but it didn’t sound like his visitor was going to go away any time soon, plus there was always the chance that Bodie might have forgotten his key. So he hauled himself to his feet, pulled on his bathrobe and walked slowly to the front door. Two days out of hospital and he still felt like he’d been shot only an hour ago. 

Sighing, he unlocked the door and opened it, astounded to see Ray Doyle standing on the other side. 

“Hi, Murph, you look dreadful. Can I come in?”

Murphy blinked, momentarily stunned, then slowly moved back to allow his visitor access. He shut the door firmly behind him then followed Doyle into the lounge, slightly disappointed with his own stamina when he found he had to lean against the doorframe for support once he got there. 

Doyle stepped forward, instantly concerned. “You okay?”

“Not really,” admitted Murphy, somewhat ruefully. “Do you mind if we take this into the bedroom?”

Doyle raised an eyebrow but nodded readily enough and followed closely behind as Murphy gradually made his way back to bed. 

While Murphy settled himself back against the pillows Doyle hung the bathrobe on the back of the bedroom door, then sat on the edge of the bed. “Can I get you anything?”

Murphy shook his head. “I’m just a bit wobbly,” he said, taking a proper look at his visitor for the first time, noticing how ashen his skin looked against the red tartan of his scarf. “You still look a bit pale yourself, Ray.”

“I’m fine. I feel the cold a bit, but the Doc has said I’m back to full fitness.”

“That’s great, Ray. Really.”

Doyle still looked worried. “Are you due any painkillers?” 

“No, I’m okay. I was just asleep when you knocked.”

“Sorry, mate.”

“Don’t be.”

The two men looked at each other for a moment, Doyle seemingly unable to take his eyes off the bandages still wrapped around Murphy’s chest and Murphy trying to ignore the scrutiny by plucking at his quilt cover. 

“So,” said Doyle, finally. “Bodie’s been looking after you a bit?”

So that was it. “Yeah, he’s been here since I got out of hospital.”

“It’s okay, really!” “It’s not like that!” Both men spoke at once and immediately laughed. 

“Murphy,” said Doyle, firmly, needing to get his words out. “I came here to say that it’s okay. If you and Bodie are right for each other then I won’t stand in your way.”

Murphy quickly put his hand up to stop Doyle from talking. “You’ve got it all wrong,” he said. “Bodie and me, well yes, he’s been helping me. But it’s not the way you think.”

“You don’t... want him, then?”

“Of course I do.” Murphy’s first instinct was to look down, but he pulled himself together and made the effort to look Doyle right in the eye. “Hell, Ray, I love him. I always have. But he doesn’t love me.”

Doyle stared at him, then shook his head. “He’s better off with you, Murph. I’ve let him down too many times.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Then why won’t he talk to me?” Doyle sounded confused and frustrated. “He won’t even tell me what I’ve done wrong.”

“It’s complicated, Ray, and I don’t think I should be the one to tell you.”

“He doesn’t trust me, does he? He thinks I’m like Keller.”

“Not like Keller, no, but I do think he’s struggling to trust again.”

“Then I’ve lost him? For good?”

“I don’t believe that. He’s still yours. All you have to do is tell him.”

Doyle blinked away the tears that had started to form in his eyes. He hadn’t expected this kindness, this concern. He’d just wanted to make his peace with Murphy then leave. “I don’t know how to do it. How do you tell a man that you’re sorry for everything you’ve ever done? That you’ll never touch another woman ever again? That you’ll always be there for him, no matter what?” His voice started to break. “That he means more to you than your own life?”

A movement in the doorway made Murphy look up past Doyle’s shoulder, a smile on his lips. “You just did,” he said, thanking a God he didn’t believe in for Bodie’s impeccable sense of timing. 

“If you’re going to hit on Murphy,” said Bodie, his voice warm and reassuring, “the least you could do is wait until he’s fully fit.”

Doyle nearly fell off the bed as he tried to stand up and turn around at the same time. “I...I wasn’t hitting on Murphy,” he said, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes. 

“I know, Ray.” Bodie opened his arms and Doyle almost fell into them. “I know.” 

Murphy smiled across at them, knowing once and for all that Bodie’s was one heart he was never going to win. 

 

50\. Operation Susie

Bodie and Doyle stood alone in the railway carriage, watching out of the window as the girl’s body was taken by stretcher to the waiting ambulance. 

“This isn’t what I signed up for,” said Doyle, quietly, still trying to control his anger.

Bodie looked down at the floor, fiddling with the kettle and teapot as an excuse to do something with his hands. “Nor me, mate. Nor me.”

“So why are we doing it?”

“Because we were told to.”

“And we always do what we’re told, like good little civil servants, eh? Even if it means standing by while they commit murder?”

“If you want to put it that way.”

“No. I don’t to put it any way at all. I’ve had it, Bodie.”

“Because of Diana Molner?”

“Because of Diana, because of Cowley. And because nothing we do makes any difference anymore.”

Bodie took this in, considering the implications carefully. “So you want to get out?”

Doyle turned away from the window and took the teapot from Bodie hands, putting it back on the shelf. 

“Do you?” he asked.

“I asked first.” Bodie gave him one of those grins that seemed so rare these days. 

“No,” admitted Doyle, his voice tired. “I don’t suppose I do. Not really.”

Bodie turned Doyle towards him and rested his hands on his tense shoulders. “One day, Ray. But not yet. It’s not time to get out yet.”

Doyle nodded then sighed, closing his eyes on a world he was coming to hate. 

 

51\. The Ojuka Situation

Well now, I suppose I deserved that. I wouldn’t be told, not even by the experts I employ. I didn’t really want to believe it could happen. But there it was, happening right in front of me. And to think I could have stopped this long ago. 

“I wasn’t talking about Ojuka, sir.” That said it all, didn’t it? 

I’m not a hard man to work for. Yes, I demand loyalty from my men. I take them over body and soul, their free time as well as their working hours, and all at the time of their lives when they are at their peak. They work hard, play hard. And sometimes die hard. But it’s for a good cause. My God, the best cause there is. Because if you’re not part of the solution then you’re part of the problem. And my boys, well they are part of the solution for us all. 

So I simply cannot accept subordination of this nature; the fact that one of my men would put someone else before me, before my direct orders. And that’s what Bodie did today. 

Whether he wanted to or not, he’s succeeded in putting me in a very difficult position. If I decide to split the team then I am sure, after today’s display, that I risk losing them both. And CI5 can’t afford for that to happen.

So there’s only one other way to try although, I admit, it leaves rather a bad taste in the mouth. I simply have to break up this ridiculous personal relationship without endangering their working partnership. They can’t be that serious about each other, can they? And as far as I know, neither Bodie nor Doyle has ever said no to a pretty girl, especially if she’s thrown into their path. 

So that’s my plan and I can’t have any regrets about it. 

There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for CI5.

 

52\. The Untouchables

“Drink?” 

“Won’t say no.” Bodie watched lazily as Doyle got up to get him a drink. “So, does she give any free perks?”

“Anna, I’ll have you know, is a lady.”

“Well that doesn’t mean much.”

“What about your young friend then, the one with the rich Daddy?”

“She’s unofficially engaged.”

“Ah.” Doyle put the two newly filled glasses on the table then drew the curtains closed. He turned back to Bodie, leaning down to take his face in his hands as he kissed him. “Good,” he murmured, rubbing his cheek against Bodie’s.

“We haven’t got much time,” said Bodie, softly.

“I know. Both of us busy undercover, separately.”

“And both with access to pretty girls.”

“You’d almost think Cowley was trying to tell us something.”

“Hmmm.” Bodie pouted. “And I’ve got to meet Rahad at Rotten Row first thing in the morning.”

Doyle looked at his watch and gave Bodie a sly look. “Gives us a few hours.”

Bodie got quickly to his feet, grabbed Doyle’s hand and pulled him to the bedroom. 

“Don’t suppose you could wear that D J?” asked Doyle, as they both bounced onto the bed. “I do love you in a bow tie.”

“Getting all demanding about my wardrobe now, are we?” asked Bodie, as he pinned Doyle down on the mattress.

“No,” said Doyle, his face totally deadpan. “You just remind me of James Bond.”

 

53\. Cry Wolf

It was quite funny really, because all of a sudden something amazing had happened. I now knew without a shadow of a doubt that no matter what Cowley threw at us, nothing would make me doubt Bodie’s feelings. So it really didn’t matter that Bodie’s job this week was to ‘look after’ Susan Grant. She could have been made up of all Bodie’s female fantasies in one package and she still wouldn’t have stood a chance. 

No, the only thing I didn’t like was him being out there by himself. Fighting off four attackers single handed. Dealing with a hired killer with no backup. And all I was allowed to do was be there for him on the outside and I didn’t like it, not one bit. Oh I made a few noises, put my point across. Bought Bodie a liver sausage sandwich so he wouldn’t forget me. That kind of thing. 

And it’s not that I don’t think Bodie can do his job. He’s bloody good, always has been. But the very best can still be outnumbered, still need a partner. And I know, despite what Cowley thinks, that we work best when we’re together. And that will always be the case. 

So it was that while Bodie was curled up on the girls sofa waiting for the axe to fall, yours truly was sitting outside her block of flats in Murphy’s spare car so that Bodie wouldn’t recognise it if he happened to look out. But being there wasn’t enough. I must have missed his first leap across the balcony to the flat next door and didn’t realise what was going on until it was too late to help him. I watched him nearly fall. The stupid bastard. 

All I could do was get there in time to clear up the gunman’s body. 

And be there to make sure the same thing didn’t happen to Bodie. 

 

54\. A Man Called Quinn

“Oh, Bodie,” Doyle rolled over onto his back and flung his arms open wide, his body sated and relaxed. 

Bodie stayed where he was, face in the pillow, still groaning with satisfaction. 

They didn’t even have the energy to curse the R/T when it started to beep. Doyle reached out to the bedside table and pressed the button. 

“4.5.”

“Rendezvous with Alpha One at Primrose Hill Park 9.30am.”

“Roger.” He glanced at the clock as he put the transmitter down. Rolling back towards his partner he cuddled the warm figure close to him. “We’ve got an hour,” he said, murmuring in Bodie’s ear. 

“You can’t possibly want...” said Bodie, opening one eye in amazement.

“Well we’ve got to shower, haven’t we?” said Doyle, reasonably. “And it would save time if we showered together.”

“We’ll be late for Cowley.”

“Will we?” Doyle’s voice sounded playful and it made Bodie move, all be it just to prop himself up on one elbow. 

“You don’t care, do you?” 

Doyle smiled. “Not in the least.”

Bodie reached out a hand, running fingers through silken, dishevelled curls. “Your hair’s getting long.”

Doyle mirrored his actions, slipping his hand through Bodie’s hair. “Look who’s talking.”

With one swift movement Bodie rolled onto his back, pulling Doyle with him and groaning with huge exaggeration at the weight now resting on him. “And you’ve put on weight,” he said. 

Doyle poked Bodie in the ribs, tickling him. “I’m saying nothing.”

“So,” said Bodie, his face now serious. “What would you call this? The long hair, the extra pounds and, I have to say, a complete lack of concern about keeping our Lord and Master waiting?”

“Oh that’s easy,” said Doyle, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Bodie’s. “I’d call it love.”

Bodie sighed, and took possession of Doyle’s mouth once more. 

Cowley could wait. This was important. 

55\. Lawson’s Last Stand

I have... concerns about our future - the future of CI5. We’ve been moved to offices which quite frankly look like they belong to a national Bank rather than the Headquarters of a major security force. I managed to rescue my desk and chair but they look somewhat ridiculous in their new surroundings. I can’t even make my phone calls in privacy. I’ve lost my secretary and half of my team. And as for my budget, well it’s almost non-existent. And now, yes 3.7 and 4.5 choose now to start letting me down. After all that legwork they should have recognised the threat that Lawson presented, not laughed at him. I really don’t know what I’m going to do about those two but, to be honest, I have bigger concerns right now. 

My God, after all I’ve worked for I can’t let it end like this. But the times, they are a-changing. The political world that we exist within is altering. Mrs Thatcher may be hopeful of winning another election but the last four years have been trying for us all. Britain is a different place, tougher, harder somehow. The highest unemployment since the Second World War, a national recession and, of course, the drive for unilateral nuclear disarmament is constantly in the news. A tough land to be running an organisation such as CI5 in especially with a smaller budget than ever before. 

One wrong move and it could mean lives are lost. The lads know that as well as I do but for some reason it doesn’t seem to be getting them down. Maybe I was wrong all these years, staying on my own. 

Perhaps it pays to go through life with someone dear to you by your side. 

 

56\. No Stone

Fully expecting Doyle to pick him up quickly and then drive on, Bodie was surprised when his partner surrendered the driver’s seat to him, jumping out of the car almost before the wheels had stopped at the kerb. It wasn’t often he got to drive Doyle’s gold Capri. 

As he moved the car out into the traffic he threw a glance across to the passenger seat.”Okay?”

Doyle had his knee raised, his fist clenched against his mouth, eyes dark. 

“Ray?”

Doyle dropped his head into the palm of his hand, seemingly unable to speak. 

Immediately Bodie flicked the indicator and turned the Capri into a side road, parking up in a rear alley behind a row of houses. He twisted around in his seat, unsure whether to touch or not. He knew his partner had just come from talking to June Cook so it didn’t take a genius to work out what was wrong. 

“How did it go with June?” he asked, realising too late that it possibly wasn’t the most sensitive thing to ask.

“How do you think it bloody well went?” Doyle punched his fist against the dashboard in a mixture of rage and emotion, cutting his knuckle on the rigid plastic.

After a brief pause Bodie decided to go for the ‘softly softly’ approach this time. Emanating calm, he took hold of the damaged hand and brought it close to his own lips, kissing the wound. 

“Tell me,” he said, keeping hold of the hand so it couldn’t come to any further harm.

“I’ve had it,” came the shaky reply. “She...she said I haven’t got anyone. No-one to care. But I have, Bodie. I’ve got you and I want it to stay that way.”

“What do you want to do?” asked Bodie, already knowing the answer.

“I need to get out. When we finish this Op, I’m handing my notice in. Will you...will you come with me?”

Bodie’s head dropped forward. Again, he kissed the bleeding knuckle of Doyle’s hand. “Don’t ask me that, Ray. I need to make my own decision about the job, not leave just because you are.”

Doyle pulled his hand free and inspected the damage, both to his knuckle and his soul. The events of the day had put so many things in focus for him. But he couldn’t expect Bodie to have gone through the same sea change at precisely the same moment. 

With a huge effort he flashed a weak smile across his face. “I understand. Wait for me later, when I tell Cowley?”

Bodie nodded. “Of course.” He checked his watch then threw open the driver’s door and put one foot out. “Ready to get on with the job?”

Doyle looked up, unsure. 

“We can ring when we get there, find out how the lads are,” continued Bodie. 

Resigned but realising the need to focus back on the job, at least for now, Doyle nodded and swapped seats with his partner. 

Bodie would make his decision his own way and for his own reasons. And, for now, that would have to do. 

But Ray Doyle was leaving CI5. 

 

 

57\. Spy Probe

Cowley hadn’t had to call a full staff meeting for a long time. Now, as his various agents and support staff seated themselves on the rows of chairs laid out in the large conference room, he looked them over, thoughtfully. He gave his papers one final shuffle then stood up. Silence quickly fell over the room. Just as he was about to start speaking Bodie and Doyle bundled into the room, throwing him an apologetic look as they shut the door quietly and sat down at the back. 

Cowley decided that his people deserved the direct approach. Making sure he had the full attention of the entire room, he began. 

“The Minister has decided that because of mandatory Government cuts, there is to be a reorganisation of the Security Services. For the time being at least, CI5 is to merge with MI5. This merger will take place with immediate effect.” He manfully ignored the mumble of sound this announcement created and carried on. “I will be leading us through the merger and then I intend to retire at the end of this year. Your jobs will be safe until then, after that, I cannot comment. You will be working directly with MI5 employees as a combined force. I am confident that I can rely on all of you to make the right decision at this crucial time. I wish to make it clear that there are to be no reprisals against MI5 staff as a result of past operations.” His eye caught Bodie’s who was looking at him with an openly shocked expression. “I will be available this afternoon for one to one appointments to discuss any concerns you may have. Thank you all.” 

********

It was early for a Sunday, although some might call it late as the nightclubs had only kicked their last punters out a few hours ago. As Bodie and Doyle approached the pub the bolts were drawn back and the large doors swung inwards, meaning they were the first customers of the day. Doyle made straight for their favourite corner while Bodie waited for the barman to take the towels off the pumps. 

Comptons always reminded Bodie of a Wild West saloon what with its huge bar area, high ceilings and ornate decor. He glanced up at the sweeping staircase, half expecting Calamity Jane to appear any minute. 

“Two pints of bitter, please,” he said, eyeing the barman appreciatively as he bent over to pick up clean glasses from a low shelf behind the bar. Tight jeans and an even tighter t-shirt seemed to be standard uniform for Soho bar staff these days, not that Bodie was complaining. 

He paid up, smiling at the way the young man’s fingers lingered in the palm of Bodie’s hand as the change was dropped in. Then he carried their pints over to the table in the corner where Doyle was already busy spreading out the Sunday newspaper. 

Bodie gave Doyle his drink then sat down on the couch next to him, settling comfortably close and resting his head back on the cool leather. 

He loved Sundays. 

“Cheers, mate,” said Doyle, taking the top off his pint and nodding in the direction of the bar. “Pulled again, have you?” 

“Naturally,” said Bodie, smugly. “Still got it.”

“Well make sure you keep it to yourself, cos I don’t want to catch it.” Doyle passed him the sports pages, making a point of waving the Liverpool 1, Derby County 2 review in his face. 

Refusing to allow his team’s poor performance to spoil his day, Bodie dropped the sports section on the seat next to him and settled back for his favourite hobby; people watching. 

Second favourite hobby, after sex. 

Third favourite hobby, after sex and football.

Fourth favourite hobby after...

Bodie smiled.

He leant back against the seat and slipped his hand into Doyle’s, noticing how his partner was now concentrating on the Entertainment section, probably deciding on another show for them to go to. 

From their corner he had the perfect view of the rest of the pub and, as Doyle read his way through the mountain of Sunday supplements, Bodie spied on the assembling clientele with interest. Muscle men, bears, jaded twinks and even a Tom of Finland look alike all mingled through the bar, filling it with a pleasing buzz and a sense of togetherness. The pretty young man in the gold Lycra hot pants and angel wings hardly caused a ripple as he queued up for his vodka and orange.

He and Doyle weren’t the oldest men in the room, although they weren’t far off. But Bodie knew they still had ‘it’. In their mid 60s now they both kept fit and active, both had their own hair and teeth and, more to the point, they were both still alive. And that was something he wouldn’t have bet on 30 years ago. 

Oh, how the times had changed. The friendly buzz of sound became almost hypnotic and Bodie cast his mind back 30 years. He thought about how much Soho had altered. Back then it was all prostitutes and pimps, seedy peep shows and Vice Squad busts. A no go area at night and not a place for respectable folk to be seen at any time. Slowly Soho had become more and more of a predominately gay area until nowadays you could walk down the street hand in hand with a partner of the same sex and hardly turn heads at all. 

Gradually the gay community had made the area their own so that now it had become a safe home from home for a group of people who had previously felt isolated and discriminated against. 

His mind went back to the day the Admiral Duncan had been nail-bombed. Bodie had arranged to meet up with Doyle in a pub on the next street and panicked when he couldn’t immediately find him, imagining all sorts. Three people had lost their lives that day, shocking the world. But now so much had changed that it was sometimes hard to believe that being gay was once against the law, that men risked imprisonment for what they were now openly doing on the friendly streets of Soho. 

One day all of this will be history, everyone will be accepted for who they are and not labelled as one thing or another. One day soon ‘Gay Marriage’ will just be known as ‘Marriage’. 

It’s not a choice, it’s the way we’re built. 

Bodie sighed. 

The sigh caught Doyle’s attention who looked up at him, closing the paper. “Penny for ‘em?”

“I was just thinking back to the way it used to be,” admitted Bodie. 

“Back to CI5, you mean?” asked Doyle, somewhat surprised.

“I suppose. And how it used to be around here. How much it’s changed.”

“All for the good, my son.”

“We did the right thing, didn’t we?”

As always Doyle picked up his train of thought without any effort. “Of course we did. We were dead men if we stayed. Look what happened to poor Murphy.”

Bodie’s eyes darkened a little. “Yeah.”

“And you had no choice,” continued Doyle. “They were expecting you to work with those bastards who stitched you and Marikka up. It was never going to work.”

Bodie’s eyes misted up, suddenly dragged back to the past from a future he might never have had. 

“Hey.” A soft voice pulled him back, then lips brushed against lips as Doyle kissed him gently. 

“Kissing another man in public, 4.5?” muttered Bodie, his mood instantly lightened.

“Apparently it’s the done thing these days, 3.7” said Doyle, moving in for another. 

Bodie held him back for a pause so tiny it was hardly noticeable. “You little Devil.” 

******

 

Epilogue

In 2012 there are some 20 foreign espionage groups operating in the UK, Russian and Chinese principle among these. According to MI5 as many Russian spies work in the UK today as there were at the height of the Cold War. 

The Minister shouldn’t have closed down his best weapon against international terrorism when he did, but at least it gave his operatives the chance of a clean break. To find something to do with their lives that wouldn’t mean an early death. 

And to find the freedom to love.

**Author's Note:**

> I have written these 57 stories over the last two years in order to interpret The Professionals episodes in my own way and to explore characters, ideas and relationships. It’s the way I see the development of Bodie and Doyle’s relationship and my vision of what happened to them after the final episode finished. 
> 
> I always was a sucker for a happy ending. :)
> 
> My thoughts are expressed in DVD episode order because, although I was there watching back in the 70s, I don't remember the exact transmission order. This story comes straight from my heart; it's a labour of love and as such had no proof reader. I ask readers to accept it as such rather than focussing on any errors. I also accept that my version of events will be different from yours – at least I certainly hope so. ;)  
> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> ILWB  
> March 2012
> 
> P.S. Apologies for the lack of fan art but that's Photobucket's fault. 
> 
>  


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